My Way Home is Through You
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: Set after Brendan leaves prison and he and Ste reunite. Will have a few chapters.
1. Chapter 1

The first thing he does is take care of Trevor. Hires a guy with some of the money that didn't go to lawyers and child payments, and makes it as discreet as possible.

He hires a brain dead cronie, someone who Brendan thought only belonged in action films as the hapless sidekick. But what Skunk - that's his name, not John or Frank or Phil, just Skunk - lacks in brains, he makes up for in his ruthless determination to kill.

He phones Brendan afterwards.

"It's done."

"You sure?" He _needs_ to be sure: there's no margin for error here.

"I think I'd know if I'd killed a guy or not."

"No pulse - no movements at all?"

"He's fucking dead, mate. Turned blue."

"Good." Or not good, because nothing about this is good. But it's the way it has to be. "And you did what we planned - made it look like an accident?"

Skunk sounds insulted.

"Course I did - what do you take me for?"

"Alright, alright," Brendan mutters, can hear the guy's temper fraying. He's learnt the way that he has to be around men like him. He has to patronise them, make them think that they're high and mighty, that he's lucky just to be talking to them. Has to stroke their delicate little egos.

He hangs up after he learns all he needs to know. Trevor's gone.

Brendan doesn't think about the word revenge, doesn't process it. But if he allows himself to stop and take a hard look, he supposes that's what it is. Trevor touched his boy, bruised and bloodied and left Ste in the hospital. He's paid the price now. It doesn't matter that with Brendan back, Ste would have been safe forever anyway. It's the principle.

No one touches Ste.

::::::

Ste comes out from the bathroom, skin smelling of the tropical shower gel he's used. A towel's hanging loosely from his hips, until he remembers that it's just the two of them in here, and he doesn't need to hide anything. He lets it drop to the floor, and the gentle sound of it makes Brendan's head tilt to the side, his eyelids heavy as he stares at him.

"You should have let me join you."

Ste shivers at the sound of his voice, smooth as nectar.

"We'd never get ready in time if you did, would we?" He answers with a smirk, walking over to the bedside drawer and getting out a fresh pair of boxer shorts.

"Would have been fun though."

He can't argue with that, doesn't want to.

"You're okay with this, aren't you? I mean, not okay, I know you're not -"

"Lets just get it over with, yeah?" Brendan says tersely.

The frown lines look permanently settled into Brendan's forehead. Ste forgets about dressing, hooking his arms around Brendan's shoulders. Brendan doesn't protest against the water falling onto his clean clothes. His arms wrap around the boy, hands firm on his back. Warm.

"It's gonna be fine," Ste says with an air of conviction that he hopes Brendan believes in. Something about this hurts - Brendan _hurts_. He's sure that he didn't sleep last night, that he felt him turning in the bed, restless. Ste had tried anything to take his mind off it - had called Declan and Padraig to try and distract him, had tried to get Brendan into a conversation about Johnny Cash that he ended up bluffing his way through, his knowledge in that particular field sketchy. When that had failed he'd stroked Brendan through the fabric of his jeans, but he'd felt the tension in his thigh muscles when Ste had secured his lips around the length of his cock, sucking him down.

Nothing had made it better.

"We're gonna come back here, and it's just gonna be you and me again, yeah?"

Brendan nods, but the smile he gives Ste doesn't touch his eyes. He stops him when he tries to get dressed, and Ste gets it - he needs to get some semblance of control back. Needs to feel like Ste's here with him.

"What do you want?" He whispers, staring at Brendan imploringly. "Tell me."

Brendan smooths his hands down the contour's of Ste's back, his touch satisfyingly rough.

"Do we have time?" He lets the question linger, lets Ste know what he's asking.

The boy's eyes travel to the clock on the wall. They're meant to be at the house in an hour, and it's not a quick drive. But the way Brendan's touching him - hands everywhere, eyes lingering on Ste's cock - it's too much for him to say no to.

He kisses him, tongue swiping against Brendan's upper lip, pushing his body against the older man's chest, transferring the heat between them. There's something about this, something that Ste will never tire of - the act of Brendan being in his clothes, and Ste being naked and exposed, without a trace of vulnerability. That scared, timid boy that he once was feels distant, gone.

He doesn't try and remove Brendan's clothes, knows that he likes it this way too. The water from the shower dries under the heat of Brendan's touch, and Brendan lifts Ste until he's on his back in the bed, wriggling and squirming when Brendan kisses down his body. He knows it's only a matter of time before Brendan shaves the beard; he doesn't like it when Ste laughs instead of groans at the feel of his facial hair rubbing against him.

Ste will miss it. He likes waking in the early hours and seeing Brendan beside him, eyes closed and the thick hair covering him, scratchy against Ste's lips. It's become familiar in the months since Brendan's return. He'd tried to grow his own once, had felt ridiculous and only gone a day before shaving it. It had felt like he was dressing up as Brendan Brady. Trying to bring him back through imitation, when nothing else ever could.

Until he walked back into Ste's life and changed everything, again.

::::::

Ste's on top, fingers in the warmth of Brendan's arse, mouth secured around his balls. Brendan's lying against the pillow, Ste's cock in his mouth, hands free to massage the boy's spine.

He feels weightless. Bony.

_You've got to eat something, Steven. There's nothing of you._

_I didn't have much of a reason to eat when you were gone, did I? I didn't have much of a reason for anything. _

They're beyond late. Ste's already had four missed calls, has seen his phone flashing and ignored it, closing his eyes and forcing himself not to come, not yet. Fuck being on time. He wants to prolong this, wants to experience nothing but the feel of Brendan taking him all the way in, nose against Ste's pubic hair, lips a tight seal around him.

He releases Brendan's balls, panting for breath as his fingers continue to scissor.

"We really should go." It's half hearted. He doesn't mean it.

"Okay." Brendan takes him in even deeper, causing Ste to tremble and arch his back. Brendan's not playing fair.

"He's going to think we're really rude."

"He already does," Brendan points out.

"Yeah, but..." Ste struggles for breath as Brendan's finger trails along his hole, movements light and teasing. "He's gonna think we're really, really rude."

"And I really, really don't care."

"Bren -"

He forgets about what he wants to say as soon as Brendan pulls him into his arms, seating Ste on him fully and lowering him down onto his cock until the boy's seeing stars.

::::::

"Hiya," Ste says, false cheeriness making him feel even more uncomfortable. He can sense Brendan looking at him where he's stood beside him, eyebrows raised at his bad attempts to act his way out of this.

"You're late." Doug's mouth is a tight line of disappointment.

"Sorry, we were caught in traffic."

He doesn't believe a word of it, but he stands back from the door, letting the two men pass, making sure that not an inch of Brendan touches him as he steps into the house.

"Nice place you've got here, Douglas."

"No need to be sarcastic."

"I'm not." He didn't intend to be: it seems like it's a habit where Doug is concerned.

It _is_ a nice place. Not to his tastes, but it's big and spacious, and not Ste's, and that's all that counts. Brendan looks for any sign of company, any trace of another man living here, but nothing stands out. Shame. The sooner he finds out that Doug has a new boyfriend, the sooner he doesn't have to worry about his head being consumed with thoughts of the same man who consumes his own.

"Do you want us to take our shoes off?" Ste asks, not waiting for the answer. It's only as his trainers come off that he seems to realise what socks he's wearing: the moustache patterns cause Doug's frustration to develop into obvious annoyance.

"How have you been?"

It's a compulsory question, but Ste does his bit, filling him in on his job at Chez Chez and how the kids are getting on in school. Brendan feels a twinge of jealousy spark through him when Leah and Lucas are mentioned; the months of daddy Doug are still far too prominent in his mind. He focuses on a spot on the wall and tries to drown out the conversation, not starting an argument like Ste's so wary of him doing.

But his eyes wander. They trail over Doug, taking in his features - same quiffed hair, the shirts and blazers which have replaced the former knitted jumpers. There's no sign of redness around his eyes, no trace of sleepless nights or shed tears. He looks like he's coping. It proves to Brendan what he'd already known: Doug didn't love Ste. Not real love - not love that leaves its ache when it's torn from you. Not love that'll never heal, that'll never fade, doesn't matter how much distance or time exists. Not love that can survive prison.

When Doug sees him staring, he seems to jump into action, bringing a halt to the politeness and excusing himself to go and get the box from his bedroom. The last of Ste's stuff that he'd left in their old home together.

Brendan doesn't look at the box when it's settled in Ste's arms. He doesn't want to see what's inside, doesn't want to imagine the things they could have done, the things they could have shared.

"Cheers," Ste mumbles, and Brendan doesn't look at him either - can't bear to see any flicker of doubt, any sign that he thinks he's chosen the wrong man.

There's nothing left to say after that. Doug makes the excuse of having dinner to prepare, and there's no suggestion of them staying for it. They make their way back outside into the coldness of the night, the box like a shield between Ste and Doug.

The goodbye seems startlingly final.

::::::

"You're in a sulk now, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

"Oi." Ste kicks him on the shin, lightly but with irritation in his movements. Brendan knows he ought not to push his luck. It follows him every single day: the fear that Ste will get sick of him, that he'll put an end to all this, and he'll be left with nothing.

"It's over with now. We never have to see him again."

Brendan dares to look at him. "Is that what you want?"

Ste shrugs. "Me and Doug haven't talked in months. It is what it is."

"Do you really mean that?"

It scares him, the idea that he's the only reason that they're not together. He can imagine what would have happened if he hadn't come back - the years that they would have spent as a married couple, playing happy families, wedding bands ever present. It makes him feel ill. That he was so close to having to live with the knowledge of losing Ste forever.

"Doug means nothing."

They've had this conversation too many times. Brendan knows it must be wearing thin - that there's only so many times that Ste can reassure him before he grows tired of it, tired of him.

"You got back together with him," Brendan reminds him. It's all the evidence he needs.

"Because you weren't here."

"You made love to him." He almost laughs at the words, would do if it didn't sting so much.

"I slept with him. It wasn't...it wasn't even like that." The boy sounds defensive, and it aches that Brendan's the one making him like that. Jesus, why can't he just let things be?

"So you two just lay there talking, did you?" Brendan asks, tone injected with venom.

Ste's firing up, eyes blazing and finger pointing in Brendan's direction like a stabbing motion. "So we fucked - who cares, Brendan? _You_ shagged around in prison, _you've_ done things that make me feel insecure, but it's all in the past, isn't it? We're together now. Well, we were together. But you always manage to ruin it."

He storms out of the room in a huff, leaving Brendan staring after him, mouth open in amazement, the fear of loss sending a chill through him.

::::::

Ste entertains the idea of sleeping on the sofa, hates that he misses him too much. He scowls when he realises it, when he knows that he can't stay away.

Sighing, he knocks lightly on the bedroom door and enters, finding Brendan already under the covers, eyes drifting open slowly.

He's not ready to admit defeat yet. He stands against the wall, arms crossed and mouth sulkily soft.

"Sorry," Brendan says almost immediately, and Ste knows he means it, can hear the sincerity in his voice. It doesn't mean that he's not going to make him work for it though.

"Why did you do it then? Why make things so difficult?"

"I was in prison for two years, Steven. Things are still...it's still difficult."

He tries to imagine how much the world must have changed. Being in young offenders for a few months had left Ste feeling like his life had been snatched away, that the world was moving on without him, and he was getting left behind.

"You were with Douglas for a long time. That's not easy for me."

"It's not easy for him either, you know. Being with someone for years and then they drop you the minute that their ex comes back. That's not something you just get over. I did a really shitty thing, Brendan."

Brendan sits up in bed, turning on the bedside light. The sadness in his eyes makes Ste want to come closer, forgoing any anger for what he really wants to do. He needs to hold him, doesn't know what he'll do if he doesn't.

"Do you regret it?"

Ste doesn't pause to think. Doesn't need to think.

"Never. I regret allowing it to go on for as long as it did with Doug. For stringing him along when I always knew that if you came back..."

"You didn't know though, did you." Brendan knows he's not being fair; no one knew that he'd get a reduced sentence. He didn't expect for time to freeze for Ste, for him to survive on memories alone, even if Brendan did.

"I love you," Ste says, voice strained with the truth of it, how much he needs Brendan to believe it. "I don't know if that's enough -"

"It is."

"Can I sleep in here with you tonight?" He can already see Brendan pulling back the covers.

"Always."

::::::

"We're closed!" It's difficult to gather the breath to shout when Ste's lips are on his jaw, his teeth sharp and purposeful.

The hammering continues.

"Jesus Christ." He wants _peace_. Has been craving this time with Ste all day, clothes ripping off in a bundle on the floor of the club the second that they bolted the door. It's one of the many perks of running a club together - they can decide when closing hours suddenly come a little earlier in the day.

"Leave it." Ste's words sound like a warning: don't you dare open that door.

"They're not going to fuck off though, are they?"

Ste makes a desperate attempt to keep him here, hands trailing to Brendan's cock persuasively, but the knocking continues and grows louder, more persistent.

Brendan swears, gently dislodging Ste and giving him a firm slap to the arse, draping a dressing gown over his naked form. They make sure to keep one in the office at all times. It comes in handy these days.

Brendan makes sure that Ste's out of sight, body concealed before he opens the door, face already set in intimidation and possible violence: he's not feeling friendly after the interruption, doesn't care if it's bloody Ian Mckellen behind that door.

His eyes widen, his hands slipping off the door frame.

"Jesus."

"No, not Jesus. Someone better."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Skunk?" He feels ashamed to be speaking the name, not a fucking name at all.

Skunk peers over Brendan's shoulder, trying to see inside. Brendan blocks it from view, vividly remembering a naked Ste still lying on the leather couch.

"Why, have you got company? That boy of yours that you're sweet on?"

Brendan had worked hard to keep Ste's existence hidden. He hadn't planned on dragging the boy into any of his dealings, hadn't even known at the time whether Ste would want him back in his life.

But Skunk had found a photo in his wallet, had asked if Ste was his son, and Brendan hadn't thought of lying. The _no, he's my_ - had been followed by deathly silence, but Skunk had used his few brain cells to piece together the rest. Something about Brendan's reaction had given the game away.

"What are you doing here?" Brendan snaps, securing the dressing gown more tightly around him. Skunk appears to notice for the first time what he's wearing, his expression softening into a smirk.

"Nice ensemble."

"What do you _want_?"

"Money."

Brendan stares back, uncomprehending.

"What?"

"I need money. I'm in a spot of trouble, and I heard you own yourself a nice little business here. Looks a bit of a dump to me, but -"

"I'm not giving you anything," Brendan cuts through, would throw the man out if he was wearing something more appropriate. He tries not to raise his voice, doesn't want Ste to hear any of this.

"Oh I think you are. Unless you want your fancy boy to find out what you got me to do to our friend Trevor."


	2. Chapter 2

Ste flops onto the sofa, boneless and causing the cushions to bounce.

"Don't expect a shag off me tonight."

"Charming." Brendan looks over from the television, where moments before he'd been watching a mindless quiz show, the presenter's jokes lost on him, a fog in his mind.

"Shouldn't I have perks, running the place with you?"

"I thought you already did," Brendan says, eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Additional perks," Ste adds, closing his eyes and settling more comfortably against the pillow. "Like I don't have to stay up till three am every night."

Brendan doesn't remind him that it's the nature of the business, that he thinks the boy secretly gets a thrill from being behind the bar, taking food orders and serving drinks, being the star of the show. Complaining about the job at the end of the day has become a sort of sport for them both. There _has_ to be something to complain about, otherwise life would feel too good, too like it could all be taken away at any moment.

"Anyone give you any trouble tonight?" Brendan asks cautiously, trying to keep his tone measured, not wanting to alarm Ste.

"Nah. The usual drunk regulars, but I can handle them, can't I?" There's a certain pride to his tone, and Brendan smiles, thinks that the only thing that's missing is the boy puffing out his chest and flexing his muscles. Puny, non existent, delectable muscles.

"What about you?" Ste looks at him sharply and Brendan swallows, constantly surprised and half irritated by how well Ste knows him. "You seemed...quiet tonight. Did someone say something?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know." The boy's brow furrows, and Brendan hates that he's putting him through this, that once again he's making Ste concerned over something he's done. "Was it Doug? It's okay if it is you know - I'm not gonna kick off. I told you that I should of gone on my own though -"

"No." They've had this conversation too many times, and it hadn't mattered how valid Ste's argument was - that Doug would be less hurt if he didn't have to face the two of them, a vivid reminder of who Ste left him for. If there was even a chance, a paper thin chance, of Doug worming his way back in and convincing Ste that he was better off with him, then Brendan was going to be there.

Now they're talking about it, it bothers him. It bothers him more than he'd like.

"You can look through the box if you like." Ste gets off the sofa, but Brendan stops him, a hand against his arm. "It's just stupid stuff, Brendan. Nothing important - just some DVDs and a few clothes."

Clothes. Clothes because Ste was living with Doug. Sharing the same bed. Sleeping with him. His _husband_.

"I don't want to see it. I can't." He despises the tremor in his voice. Does Ste see it, this weakness that's developed in him since prison?

"I can't stand you being off with me." The boy's eyes flicker with hurt, and Brendan can't do it, can't be the cause of that, not again.

"I'm not off with you. I promise."

"Then what is it?"

He could tell him, but he can't risk it. Can't shake the foundations of everything they've built.

"Nothing. Come here." He nods to the television. "Lets watch this shit together."

::::::

He can't meet Skunk at the club. The flat's out of the question. He doesn't want the man anywhere near his belongings, Steven's belongings. Doesn't want the two worlds to mix.

"Meet me at noon. I'm gonna drive us someplace."

"It's not off a cliff, is it?"

"Just be there." Brendan hangs up, strongly wanting to throw his phone into the pond, to get rid of every trace.

He cleans his car out first. Gets the lube out of the glove compartment where he always stashes it away, has learnt that it's come in handy over the years when he and Ste go on drives. They could be gone for half an hour for a quick trip to the local supermarket, but there's something about seeing the boy spinning around in the trolly, his chid-like joy infectious, grabbing food off the shelves, grinning when he passes the condom aisle - "We don't need those anymore, do we Bren?" It's enough to make Brendan bend him over the seat and have Ste ride him till they both collapse in the back, sticky in each others arms.

He finds some of the kid's books wedged in the back, smiling before it fades, knowing that the way that Lucas and Leah look at him would change forever if they knew what he'd done. Brendan guts out everything that links to them and Ste - can't have Skunk's eyes resting on any of it.

He picks him up in town on a quiet side street, doesn't want to run the chance of anyone he knows spotting them. Ste's visiting his father and his sisters, but he knows how these things work - even a sighting by one of the McQueens could lead to them asking questions, wondering who the lowlife drug addict is that Brendan's picking up on a street corner.

"Get in." It's a command, rough and urgent, but Skunk takes his time when it comes to it, shuffling to the car and putting on his seat belt slowly.

Brendan drives as quickly as possible without breaking the speed limit, in silence and doing everything to stop Skunk from speaking. The man leans back in his seat, looks casual as fuck, and tuts when Brendan throws the cigarette that he tries to light up out the car window.

He can't let Ste smell the smoke. Can't let Amy notice it after she reluctantly agrees to let him drive her to the station, asking all sorts of questions, accusing him of being irresponsible, of harming the kids.

It takes too long to get there. Brendan's grip on the wheel grows tighter, knuckles turning white, a dull ache forming behind his eyes. He shouldn't be here - should be at the club, should even be with Danny and Ste. He'd rather spend an uncomfortable afternoon making small talk and having to contend with a smug John Paul McQueen making jibes at Ste than sit here, desperately trying to find a secluded spot where no one will find him.

When they escape the crowds, Brendan doesn't know whether to feel relief or panic, feels both twist in his stomach unpleasantly. He doesn't want to be alone with this man, hasn't been a part of this world for a long time. It's like he's being dragged backwards, forced to mould into someone who he wanted to leave behind.

"Couldn't we just meet at your club? Would have been easier." Skunk puts his feet up on the dashboard, grunting when Brendan immediately brushes them off, wiping down the surface.

"We never meet there, not ever - you got it?"

"Ah, I see. Want to keep the missus out of it, don't you? I'm disappointed I never got to meet him - must be someone special for you to kill for, huh? He some big bloke with muscles, is that it? He looked about sixteen in that photo I saw."

Brendan ignores him, resisting the urge to knock his head against the dashboard in frustration.

"What's your name?"

The man blinks in confusion. "I told you -"

"Not that _thing_ - that's not a name. Jesus. You trying to tell me that your parents actually wrote that on your birth certificate?"

Skunk shrugs, sniffing. "It's my name. That's all you need to know."

"Fine - it's not important anyway." The less he knows the better. "Just - tell me why you're here. Why you're trying to rinse me dry."

He hadn't asked the night before. Ste had called to him from the club, asked him who was at the door, and he'd hurried Skunk out with the assurance that he'd meet with him the next day.

"I'm in a spot of bother," he says lightly, may as well have a beer in front of him it's so casual.

"Let me guess - you've run out of money for crystal?"

"I don't even take crystal no more!" He looks at Brendan in disgust, affronted.

"What's it these days then?" When he met Skunk he'd doubted that he was capable of the job: he didn't know how anyone was meant to plan a murder when they spent half the day shooting up.

"Heroin mostly."

"Heroin!" Brendan shouts, causing Skunk to shrink back beside him, looking afraid for the first time. "Oh well, that's okay then! You're no longer on the crystal, but you're on heroin - thank fuck for that!"

"Alright, no need to be a bastard about it. I'm getting help - I'm gonna go to rehab soon."

"Really?" Brendan doesn't try and hide his scepticism. "So you're here blackmailing me for drugs money, but you're going to go to rehab? Are you not connecting the dots here, or..."

Skunk's expression hardens. "I want twenty thousand."

Brendan almost chokes on thin air. "Twenty thousand? You're not getting twenty pounds. I gave you what you were owed when you..." He stops, words caught in his throat.

Skunk smiles. "When you asked me to kill Trevor - come on Brendan, don't be afraid to say it. You may not have done it yourself, but you're no saint."

"I gave you your money," Brendan continues, pretending that Skunk hasn't said anything.

"Yeah, and I need some more. The last payment - I promise."

"Oh yeah? And how long is it until you're back here again, asking for more when you want to inject that shit into your arms?"

"I don't inject it - I just smoke it," Skunk says, lip curling.

"Mother Theresa's got nothing on you, kid."

"Listen, Brady." Skunk leans forward, face inches away from Brendan's own. He can smell the cannabis leeching off his clothes. "I know the things you love. Who you love. You don't want your boy to find out that you're a killer, do you?"

"He already knows," Brendan says simply, concealing his shaking hands in his lap, out of Skunk's eye line. "Do your worst."

He opens the car door, roughly tugging Skunk's seatbelt off him and pushing him out of the car before he has a chance to process what Brendan's doing. He lies on the ground, eyes widening and mouth agape, only rising to his feet when Brendan slams the door closed and starts the engine.

"What are you - Brady!"

"Don't contact me again."

"You can't just leave me here! I don't even know where we are."

"Call one of your junkie mates, yeah?"

He speeds off, a cloud of dust concealing Skunk from his view.

::::::

It took months before Ste revealed everything. It came out piece by piece, in conversations that lasted late into the night. They would lie up till the early hours in bed, or make each other hot chocolates and sit in the kitchen, only realising when the sun would rise through the curtains that they hadn't slept.

"You hate me." Ste's face was blotted with tears, patchy and sore and swollen.

"I could never. Didn't you ever listen to me? Nothing you could do could -"

"Ever make you stop loving me," Ste finished, voice cracked and raw. "Yeah, I know. But that was before - before this."

"Nothing's changed." Brendan didn't take his eyes off him, didn't want further doubts to form in the boy's mind. It wasn't disgust he was feeling. Wasn't anything like it.

"I'm a hypocrite, aren't I?" Ste continued. "Telling you that I can't be with someone who does that, and then I..." He stopped, hands secured around a pillow, holding onto it like it was grounding him. "I didn't want to though Bren, I swear. I never liked it - I never. I just...I wanted the club, and I had to make money, and...it felt...easy. I'd done it before - nothing serious, but just dealing here and there, and it felt like...it felt like I was closer to you somehow. That life. Dealing, and...doing something...wrong."

"That's how you see me? Wrong?" Brendan asked quietly.

"No." Ste wiped his nose, wetness pooling against his hand. "But when we first met - you did all that, didn't you? I felt like if I did it, then you were there with me." He shook his head, a bitterness to his laughter. "It was stupid. I was stupid."

"I never imagined that life for you." Brendan opened his mouth when he saw Ste's expression turn to one of horror, fighting to argue back. "Not because I'd be disappointed. Not because of what you're thinking. I thought you'd be safe."

Anger seeped through into the boy's eyes. "You thought a lot of things. None of them were right though, were they?"

He deserved the anger. Deserved for Ste to cry in his arms and hit his chest, hard enough to hurt. Deserved to have the boy shout and swear and hate him for thinking that he'd be better off.

"There's a lot of bastards out there, Steven. People who could have hurt you."

He didn't mention that he'd already found out that Ste had been hurt. Didn't tell him that rumours had floated around in prison, something that Silas and Warren had delighted in telling him. Tales of Ste with broken ribs and a bloodied face, resigned to a hospital bed for days, out cold.

"I know." The boy looked ashamed, like he was remembering it all. He flinched. "Trevor, and Browning -"

"Browning?" Brendan had sat up, alert and pulse racing.

"The one who killed your Lynsey."

Brendan's mouth was dry. "Did he hurt you?"

Ste looked like he regretted saying anything. His tone was careful, intended to soothe. To try and play down the danger.

"He just threatened me, that's all." Brendan's face must have twisted, because Ste put his hand over his arm, stroking the skin there and kissing him, soft and reassuring. "It's nothing to worry about."

Brendan never did tell the truth when Ste asked him about the nasty accident that Browning had in prison two weeks later.

::::::

Lucas likes to play with the beard. Like father like son.

His hands touch it, always cautiously at first as though it's going to bite. Then they settle over it more firmly, laughing as his fingers brush against the sharp edges.

"You're all prickly."

Brendan smiles down at Ste's boy, bouncing him in his arms. "What do you think - is it a keeper?"

"Yes," Ste says instantly from where he's preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"We all know your thoughts on the beard," Brendan says, smiling wolfishly and earning a grin and a wink from Ste in response.

"I miss your tache," Lucas says, his hand ghosting over the area above Brendan's upper lip.

Brendan hums in acknowledgment. He misses it too sometimes.

He'd been surprised at how much Lucas and Leah had remembered. Two years was a long time. He'd thought he'd be a stranger to them when he returned, especially with Doug being in their lives.

It was only when they'd got back together that Ste had told him that he'd kept photographs around, hidden but sought out by the kids. They hadn't stopped doing drawings of him - this man with the moustache that had been in their lives for just over three months. Daddy Brendan.

"Leah, clear the table for me," Ste calls, and his daughter rises from her position on the sofa, her blond hair long and wavy, still wet from the bath. She's grown more beautiful in the years since Brendan last saw her. Sometimes it's impossible to believe that she's not Ste's. Everything about her is like him. It makes Brendan smile just being with her.

It's their first day of having the kids over for the weekend. They'll go back to Amy's tomorrow, her eyes trailing over Ste's body when she comes to collect them, obsessively checking for bruises. She never says anything, but Brendan knows what she's doing. Every time her trust in him grows more, but he still suspects that if he were to walk out of Ste's life, Amy would let out a silent cheer of triumph.

Her stubbornness reminds him of Ste. Her lack of forgiveness doesn't.

::::::

"You were ages." Ste's tucked under the covers, book lying on the bedside table - Cheryl Cole's autobiography. Brendan almost rolls his eyes, catching himself at the last moment.

"They wanted a story." And another one. And another one.

"Sometimes I think you're only with me for my kids." The boy grins, pulling back the covers to let Brendan in.

"Damn. You've got me."

They kiss, long and slow and soft. Brendan can taste the toothpaste in Ste's mouth, and warms the cold minty flavour with his tongue.

"Do you wanna..."

"I always wanna." Brendan walks to the door and locks it. The kids growing older has meant that they're stronger too: they won't be deterred by a chair pressed against the door anymore.

He stands before Ste, chest heaving as he takes off his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor in a elaborate show, a striptease. There's desire in Ste's eyes as he takes in his body, at the hair covering Brendan's chest and settling around his belly button, a trail that leads to his groin.

He's excited. Brendan can see it in his eyes. Knows without having to raise the bedcover that he's already hard.

"Do you want me to take off my trousers?"

"Yes." Ste giggles at the obviousness of it.

"And my boxers?" Brendan asks, hands ghosting over his belt buckle.

Ste nods, wetting his lips.

"Ask nicely then."

"Take off everything. Please." The boy's breathless. His hand has disappeared beneath the covers.

Brendan turns around, his back to Ste. First he takes his jeans off, knowing how his tight fitting underwear accentuates his arse. The boy's quiet behind him.

"You alright back there?"

All he gets in return is an _mmmm_, and a _keep going_.

When he takes his boxers off he bends with it, exposing his hole. He hears the sound of footsteps padding across the carpet, and lets out a gasp when he feels a wet tongue probing between his cheeks, stretching him open.

"I love you."


	3. Chapter 3

Ste spreads him out on the bed, makes them both more comfortable. It feels more luxurious like this: their bed, their sheets, their pillows. Everything's new - a new flat, new furniture. All theirs.

Brendan lets out a sigh, stomach on the mattress, his cheek pressed against the pillow as Ste trickles out the lube. He uses lots - Brendan can be sensitive in that area, and he doesn't want to make it sting, the feel of that first finger curling inside him, not stopping until he brushes against Brendan's prostate.

"It's cold," Brendan says with a laugh.

"It'll warm up soon." It's a line that Brendan used on him when they slept together for the first time, and Ste was quivering but determined in his arms. Brendan had never stopped asking if he was okay, until he no longer had to, because the sounds escaping from Ste's mouth told him all he needed to know.

Brendan angles his arse when Ste inserts the first finger, making Ste rub against where he wants him to, burying his head into the pillow. Ste kisses his arse cheeks, stroking down Brendan's back, feeling his own dick rub against the bed covers.

Something's shifted since Brendan's return from prison. Ste never thought anything was missing, never thought that it could get better than it already was, but it's changed. He doesn't question Brendan on it, doesn't ask why something feels like it's been freed, let out from its cage. He doesn't want to voice the obvious: that when Brendan told him about what Seamus did to him, the past was untangled and released, and the burden lifted with it.

It feels powerful. Ste feels powerful, Brendan sprawled before him, so full of trust that it's overwhelming. Sometimes it feels hazy, dream like, and Ste waits to wake, to realise that all this has been the product of his overactive, wishful imagination. He waits to wake up beside Doug, Brendan in a locked prison cell, never to return to him.

When Brendan groans, Ste knows he's here. Feels how real he is. Has to believe that he's not going anywhere, otherwise he'll live the rest of his life in fear, waiting in dread for it to happen.

Ste lies over him, fingers still in the crook of Brendan's arse, his chest moulding snuggly against Brendan's back. His dick rubs against Brendan's entrance, and he's close enough that he could slip an inch in, enter that warmth for the first time, start moving inside him -

But they're not there yet, might never get there, and that's okay. Ste has all he needs.

There isn't a need to open Brendan up. Isn't a need to get him slick and loose and ready: Brendan's the one who's going to put that big dick inside him, who's going to make him feel split down the middle, separated from his own body. Sometimes when Ste visits Amy and she has the girls round, they'll giggle and ask what it is gay men do, seem to think that it's all _arse fucking_ and _bumming_ and the other slang they've picked up over the years.

Ste doesn't tell them that he pities them. That he bets the most foreplay they get with the guys they meet at clubs is a quick blowjob, maybe a handjob if they're feeling shy.

For him and Brendan, foreplay isn't the prelude to sex: it is the sex. It's late, and the kids could wake at any moment, but they take their time, make each other come before Ste's been penetrated.

Sometimes they'll talk while they're doing it, ask each other what they want. But tonight Ste doesn't have to ask: Brendan strokes his dick in his palm while Ste gets him wet with his tongue, alternating with his fingers. When the wet spunk spills onto the sheets, Brendan lies quietly for a moment, and Ste worries he's gone to sleep, feels disappointment stir within him at the thought of it, cock uncomfortably hard and untouched.

Then he hears a low growl, and Brendan stares back at him, eyes shining.

Ste doesn't say anything. Looks at him wordlessly and fists his dick lightly, Brendan's eyes trailing down to follow his movements, mouth opening, tongue gleaming with saliva.

"Come up here."

The command makes Ste shiver and he clambers up in the bed, allowing Brendan to manhandle him, positioning Ste's legs to wrap around Brendan's shoulders, giving Brendan's mouth perfect access.

His fingers scrape along the wallpaper as Brendan clasps his hands over Ste's cock, anchoring it into his mouth.

"I think we're gonna need new wallpaper." Ste looks at the dent he's made in it, the paint peeling off.

Brendan doesn't seem to look, just holds Ste's unsteady legs up to keep him from falling and angles his cock in deeper, swallowing him down until he comes with a cry.

::::::

"What's the best sex you've ever had?"

Brendan cocks an eyebrow, not disguising his surprise.

"Why, are you conducting a survey?"

"It's a serious question!" Ste's lips grow sulky; Brendan can make it out in the darkness.

"Eileen. Our wedding day."

Ste turns his head to look at him, disgruntled and clearly offended.

"I'm joking," Brendan shudders. "Jesus - do you think I'd want to go back to that?"

"I don't know. Maybe all this time you've been missing vaginas."

"Says the guy who still had a girlfriend when he was sleeping with me."

"Er, alright. No need to be cheeky," Ste says, running his fingers along Brendan's beard. "I bet it's that Macca or that Vinnie, isn't it? Probably had the best nights of your life with them."

The boy looks like he's only half joking.

Brendan switches on the bedside lamp, giving up on his attempt to sleep. Once Ste starts talking about the past, it's pointless to try and placate him.

"Yes Steven, I had the best sex of my life with them. That's why I stayed with them for all those years. That's why I'm still with them now, instead of in bed in the flat that I share with my boyfriend."

Ste tries to hide the flicker of a smile that forms. _Boyfriend_ - when did that word cease to scare him?

"What are you saying then?"

Brendan knows he'll have to spell it out, that it's what the boy's begging for.

"Dublin. The first night we got back together." He lies back against the pillow, hands moving to his hair and sweeping it back, a sigh rattling through him.

"Which time? Cos we did it a lot..."

He can hear the smile in Ste's voice, can vividly recall that night and all its tastes and textures and smells and sounds.

"The second." He's never thought about it before, not really, but he's certain of it now.

"Why?"

"Because the first time, I was scared that you were going to walk out of that door and leave me."

There's silence, and he imagines Ste struggling to take it in, to work out what he's trying to say. He still seems amazed sometimes that Brendan could ever doubt anything between them. How being on that bridge was a leap of faith, one which felt like the biggest risk of his life.

"After everything I said to you? You thought that I -"

"It doesn't matter what you said. You married someone else. You were going to go to America."

"Yeah, but you know why I married him," Ste says, voice small.

"Do I?"

Ste stops stroking Brendan's beard, hands still.

"Because you weren't ready yet. To be the man that I..."

"And Douglas was just there?" Brendan adds, reciting a line that Ste's told him before in his more insecure moments.

"Yeah," the boy says, a guilty edge to his voice. "He was my friend, wasn't he? And he loved me."

Brendan shuts his eyes, doesn't want to hear about Doug's love.

"When you came back."

"What?"

"That was the best sex of my life. When you came out of prison, and you came back to me." Ste settles into his arms when Brendan lifts his elbow, creating a space there. "Because I knew it was forever then."

::::::

"Do you think we should rename this place?" Ste looks around the club, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Cheryl would kill me."

"She doesn't even live here no more."

"You know what she's like. That won't matter." His sister has her own country mansion and more money to know what to do with, but he can still imagine her telling him that it's the principle of the matter. She'll mourn no longer seeing her name across the building when she comes to visit.

"Why, what do you want to name it?" Brendan asks curiously. He can imagine the kinds of things that Ste could come up with - something like _Tracksuits_ or _Chav_ _City_ in neon lights.

"Stez Stez has a ring to it." He grins, all teeth and joy.

"It was bad enough when they called it The Loft again." He'd felt a particular amount of satisfaction when he'd painted over the sign and claimed the place as his own again. "Lets not change it again, hmm?"

Ste sidles up to him where he's sitting at the bar, hands sweeping around Brendan's neck, lips sucking pressure across his jaw.

"I understand."

He's not sure if wants him to. His own reasons for wanting things to stay the same are pathetic, embarrassing.

"You want things to be like they were two years ago, don't you?" Ste never takes his lips or his hands off him, and it does what it's meant to, releasing some of the tension from Brendan's body.

If he admits it then it makes it real. But there's no lying, not to this boy, this man.

"I hate the thought that things have changed. That I can't get it back to how it used to be."

Jesus, is this what having a therapist has done to him? Reduced him to someone who talks about his feelings?

"Don't you like the way things are now?"

"Of course I do. I just...I get...I..." _I wonder what I did to deserve this. _

"Two years is a long time."

Brendan wonders if Ste knows how much it hurts, but then he remembers: this isn't the same person that he left behind - the drug dealing, sleeping around, getting drunk, getting put in the hospital.

He knows pain. Has had a lifetime of it.

"Maybe we'll change the name," he concedes reluctantly. "Just give me time."

::::::

It's not so much that Ste's waiting for a date. He likes to think he's not that desperate. When his birthday passes and he gets a mind numbing blowjob and a trip to Dublin with Brendan, he tries not to feel disappointed, knows that he's being ungrateful, that he never expected to have this again. Dublin was firmly off limits when Brendan went to prison. Ste didn't want to revisit it again, didn't want to see the bridge and the hotel. Didn't want to see the pub that they'd destroyed and fucked in.

Ste wants to stay in the same hotel that they did the first time, but Brendan wants somewhere better - "Somewhere that that McQueen lad didn't step foot in" - and Ste grumbles at the memory and agrees. The hotel they choose is fancier, but it feels lived in, a place where Ste can spill his load onto the crisp white sheets and drink tea while sitting on the carpet watching television, a biscuit in one hand, Brendan beside him.

The thought flickers in his mind, feels almost forbidden. He resists the urge to riffle through the pockets of Brendan's clothes, knowing that if Brendan found him he'd have to tell the truth, that Brendan's never believed his lies.

_I'm looking for a ring. _

He imagines Brendan's face falling and the awkwardness that would follow, Brendan telling him that he doesn't want to get married again. That they can be boyfriends, or partners - they can be _together_, but not like that. Never like that.

Ste can live with that. It's enough, what they're doing. Sitting with Brendan on the pier where they sat three years ago, wind making his hair look fucked, beard looking rougher than usual - it's all enough.

Brendan's silent for a moment, and Ste doesn't push it. Knows that he must have a lot to think about, coming back here. They both do.

"You can hold my hand if you want."

Ste's mouth is open, eyes watering in the wind.

"What?"

"No one can see us." Brendan whispers it, eyes warm, lips upturned in a tentative, shaky smile. He looks terrified that Ste's going to say no.

Ste reaches over, taking Brendan's hand in his own. He leaves them like that for a moment, waiting to see if Brendan's going to pull away, if it's too much. Brendan stares out at the sea. He doesn't look afraid. Not anymore.

Ste links his hands through Brendan's, listening to the sea barreling over the rocks.

::::::

A boy seeks Brendan out. Young, in his early twenties, hair dirty blond and cheekbones defined. Tanned skin. Blue eyes.

He asks around the village, and when he gets the right address he knocks on the door, finding Ste in his dressing gown, sleep still in his eyes.

"Can I help you?" Ste's tone goes against the politeness of his words. He's in no mood to be woken up early on his day off.

"Is Brendan here? Brendan Brady?" The boy looks nervous, shuffling from one foot to the other and chewing his lip, the skin there looking torn.

"Why?" He takes in the boy's appearance, eyes assessing him in a new light.

"I know him."

"Where from?" Ste steps closer, no longer caring that his legs are bare.

The boy opens his mouth then closes it, changing his mind.

"Is he here or not?" There's an abruptness that wasn't there before.

Ste can hear Brendan calling him from inside the flat, but he ignores it, knowing that he only has a few precious seconds before he and the boy are no longer alone.

The stranger's voice must drift through to Brendan, because when he joins them he looks panicked, hands fidgeting in the way he gets when he's nervous, agitated.

"Steven. Maybe you should go inside, get breakfast ready."

"No." Ste raises his voice, won't let Brendan turn him away. "I'm staying, ta."

The boy looks between them, lips curved in a pout.

"Who's this - your son?"

Ste laughs, advancing forward before Brendan holds him around the stomach, his hand solid and unyielding.

"I'm his boyfriend." He considers saying lover, wants to rub it in, as though the matching dressing gowns didn't already give it away. But he's glad that he chose his words carefully: the boy seems wounded, recoiling.

He looks to Brendan, seems to be trying to seek out the truth, eyes imploring.

"What are you doing here, Marcus?" His voice is cold, clipped.

"I came here to see you."

"Why?" Brendan shrugs his shoulders, eyes darting to Ste and then back again. "There's nothing for you here."

"But Brendan -"

"Run along, there you go." He slams the door in the boy's face, hand on Ste's arm, pulling him back into the kitchen.

Ste releases himself from his hold, but follows him. Knows it's the only way he's going to get answers.

"Have you been cheating on me?" He's all fired up, feels like Eileen must have after she caught them together, that same kind of fury.

"Don't be stupid."

"Don't call me stupid!" Ste picks up a plate that's lying on the countertop and smashes it against the wall, Brendan jumping when it breaks.

"Steven." He raises his hands up in a defensive gesture, Ste picking up a glass.

"Tell me the truth."

"Of course I haven't been cheating on you. I _love_ you, for fucks -"

"Then why is some lad who's younger than me turning up at our door, wanting to see you?"

"Just put that down, won't you?" Brendan nods at the glass and Ste looks at it, seems to see it for the first time and realise what he was about to do. He stares at the smashed fragments of the plate on the floor and lowers the glass, raising his hands in front of his face in amazement.

"He...we met in prison."

Ste's face looks blank, then a renewed spark of anger flashes across it. "Ah right, so he's some toy boy that you fucked inside then?"

"I told you what happened in there. I never hid anything."

"You told me that you shagged some of them when you got lonely, blah blah blah - you never told me that you made someone fall in love with you."

"What?" Brendan approaches him cautiously, touching him on the shoulders when Ste doesn't back away. "Where did that come from?"

"I could see it in his eyes - the way he looked at me. The way he looked at you. It's Macca all over again, ain't it?"

"Steven, he's just some boy with a crush."

"He's fitter than me though, isn't he?" Ste presses, eyes red.

Brendan laughs. It's a mistake: Ste pushes him backwards, jaw rigid and knuckles tensed.

"Don't you dare laugh at me."

"I'm not laughing at - I'm laughing at how fucking _crazy_ you are. No one's better than you, Steven. No one."

The boy continues to scowl, but Brendan thinks he sees something in him soften, his eyes losing their coldness.

"Even if he is in love -" Brendan struggles with the words, at how insane they sound. He fucked the guy a few times, gave him a few handjobs - and he's meant to think that's _love_? "He doesn't mean anything. I barely even remembered him until he came knocking at my door at eight o'clock in the fucking morning."

"Barely?" Ste asks, wiping his nose. Brendan checks his eyes, is relieved to see that he's not crying, not yet.

"I didn't remember him," he repeats.

"I want you to tell me more about it, Bren."

"About that guy?" Brendan asks, frowning. He wants to forget, wants to forget that he was ever with anyone else.

"About prison."

"I've told you everything." His voice betrays his reluctance: some things are too raw, will be for the rest of his life.

"I don't think you have. Please. Tell me. I don't want any more skeletons to come out of the closet. That's what tore us apart the first time."


	4. Chapter 4

"What are you asking me?"

"You know what I'm asking." Ste leans against the countertop, fingers drumming nervously against it. He never takes his eyes off Brendan, not for a second. He isn't backing down.

"I was in prison for two years. I didn't exactly keep a diary, Steven. I can't remember every single tiny detail."

"Stop." Ste cuts through, sounding exhausting. Looking exhausted. "You always get like this when you don't want to tell me something - you start getting mouthy, defensive."

"You're calling _me_ mouthy?"

"Alright, so I answer back sometimes," Ste concedes, eyes dark. "But I don't lie to you, not anymore. I don't want to have to answer the door to anymore Marcus's."

"I told you, he's just a -"

"What, a council rat in a tracksuit? Like Kevin was?"

That name isn't welcome in this house. They've never talked about him, not since the night that Ste told him that he beat Kevin to a pulp in the club and he left the village. Any mentions of him remind them both of that time. The accusation. The things that it led to.

"How many men did you sleep with in prison?" Ste's voice shakes, and Brendan wants to walk over to him, comfort him, do something. But the boy wants him to talk.

"Four." Brendan remembers the number, remembers it because every single one wasn't Ste.

He sees the dip of Ste's Adam's apple as he swallows, processing the information, eyes on the floor, nodding ever so slightly.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Brendan continues, seems ridiculous now, too painful to think about. Did he really plan for a life without Ste? Did he really think that he could survive in prison on a thirty year stretch with no contact ever again?

He wouldn't have made it.

"Did you ever have any feelings for...for any of these guys?"

"Never," Brendan says, voice raised. Never. He wants to explain what he did: wants to tell Ste how he chose boys who reminded him of him. Same build, same profile, same hair and eyes, as exact as he could get it. But if he reveals the extent of his actions, of the twisted nature of them, then Ste might lose the love which, by some miracle, he kept hold of in the years since Brendan was gone.

"And Browning?"

"I didn't sleep with him - Jesus, Steven. You think I'd do that after Lynsey -"

"No." Ste almost laughs. "I mean his - what did you call it - _accident_." Suspicion rolls off his tongue.

Brendan mirrors the boy, fingers on the countertop, fidgeting.

"People get hurt in prison all the time."

"Bit of a coincidence though, don't you think? I tell you that he threatened me, and a couple of weeks later he's in the hospital."

"What are you saying - that I somehow snuck into prison and attacked him?" Brendan looks at him like he's crazy. More lies. But sometimes it's necessary.

"No." The boy looks self conscious, looks like he's doubting himself now. He shouldn't do that: nine times out of ten, he's right. "I thought maybe you hired one of your mates, made them do it."

"Didn't really have any mates in there." Not strictly true, but the less Ste knows the better. Maybe he thought Danny Houston was a once off, something he had to do. Killing for him four times - it makes him sound bloodthirsty. Sick. Depraved.

"And Trevor? He just disappeared -"

"Steven." Brendan makes sure that the boy's not holding a glass, doesn't fancy spending the day cleaning up more fragmented shards from the floor. "I came back here for you. I spent two years with you in my head - it didn't matter who else I was with. It was nothing. This isn't like last time. No one's gonna come between us."

Ste's pupils are large, eyelashes fluttering against Brendan's thumbs when he strokes them. The boy wants to believe him more than anything.

"Let's go back to bed, yeah?" Ste leads the way.

::::::

Marcus is waiting at the club. It didn't take him long to find out who owned the place. He felt a stab of jealousy when he discovered that it's a joint venture - Ste Hay and Brendan Brady.

The boy with the long eyelashes and sulky pout hadn't been lying about the boyfriend part then. They were in this together.

Ste runs up the stairs, spring in his step, the kind that he gets from spending the morning with Brendan's cock inside him. They'd shared a post coital breakfast in bed afterwards, Brendan's eyes following him whenever he'd taken a bite of toast, until he'd given up, plate discarded on the side.

"Have I got crumbs on my mouth or something? Why are you looking at me funny?"

He didn't get much of a chance to continue eating after that. Brendan had other ideas.

Ste halts when he sees the boy sitting on the sofa, the light in Marcus's eyes dimming.

"I thought you were Brendan." He doesn't hide his disappointment.

"Yeah, a lot of people say we look alike."

"Where is he?"

Ste moves closer until he's towering above him. "It's both our days off. I've just come to get a new bottle of lube. He keeps it in our office see, and we've run out."

He's come to get the jacket that he left here last night, but it's worth it for Marcus's reaction. His eyes narrow, hurt flashing across his face.

"I just want to see Brendan."

"You saw him this morning." He remembers having some semblance of patience with Kevin, however small. He'd even _liked_ Macca.

He feels nothing but animosity now. Wants to get rid of this boy. Wants to throw him out onto the streets and never have to see him again.

Wants to do some damage.

"Someone was in the way." Marcus looks him up and down, face contorted like what he's seeing is wrong, disgusting.

Ste's had enough. He grabs the boy by the scruff of his t-shirt, his feet dragging along the floor. He feels an immediate ache in his arms - he's more slight than Marcus, but his anger's giving him strength. He ignores the yelps and protests, not deterred even when he feels nails scrapping across his skin, trying to force Ste to release him.

Ste kicks open the door, doesn't care when he attracts attention from the people outside.

"He doesn't want you." He speaks slowly but loudly, _get the fucking message. _"He loves me."

It's only when he says it that he realises how true it is.

::::::

Ste was with Doug for two years after Brendan left. Doug moved into the flat, and Ste moved the photographs out - Brendan and the kids, Brendan and himself. Everything that meant something was hidden, leaving space for Ste's new life.

Doug wanted them to share the same computer, thought that it would be more convenient when his laptop broke down.

Ste spent an afternoon on his own going through his hard drive, almost clicking delete only to hover over the files, eyes stinging. There were hundreds of photos stored, ones he'd never got around to printing. A few dozen that he'd taken in Dublin. Others that had been taken during their first and only Christmas together, Brendan sitting between Leah and Lucas on the sofa, the decorative lights bright and sparkling behind them. Brendan looked almost comical in his embarrassment - this was before he'd stopped regarding the kids as strangers, before they became his own.

Most of the photos were private. It had started out innocently enough - a few pictures jokingly taken in the bath, Brendan with a beard created with the lather from the bubbles. Ste lying on the bed in only his boxers, a beaming smile for the camera, Brendan's laughter filthy and happy as he took the pictures.

Soon they weren't wearing anything. They were pictures that kept each other going through the nights spent away from each other, Brendan in the club and Ste at the flat. Brendan would go to the office or the bathroom, give Ste something to think about until his shift ended.

Ste looked over his shoulder as he searched through the photos on the computer. He knew Doug was out, but it didn't stop him from being paranoid: he felt like Doug could see him, that he somehow knew. Sometimes he looked at him as though he thought Ste wasn't really there with him at all.

If Doug saw the photographs then he might leave him, and Ste would be alone again. But deleting them would erase the last traces of Brendan.

Ste hit delete, and tried not to cry.

::::::

Everyone's staring.

Jack. Frankie. Mercedes. Darren's pulling faces that make Brendan want to smack him. He's pretty sure he hears the word _cute_ being used.

Jesus.

He's holding hands with his boyfriend. It's not like a fucking circus has come to town.

Part of him wants to let go, almost does. But then he sees Ste's face, the smile so wide that it looks like it must hurt. And Brendan can't be the one to take it away from him.

"Two pints please."

Jack doesn't mention anything, and Brendan's grateful for that. He frees both his hands to pay for their drinks, ignoring Ste's attempts to buy his own. He thought the boy would be used to this by now. Everywhere they go, Brendan pays. They've got into arguments about it a handful of times, but he always gets his way in the end.

"I'm not your wife, Bren. I do have my own money you know."

"Save it for when we next go to Dublin. Buy yourself a Guinness."

"Er, it's rank that." Then he stops, smiles. Realises that Brendan's talked about a next time.

They sit in a quiet corner so they can hear each other - the pub's full tonight, and they want some privacy.

Brendan never thought he could get used to this, never thought he could enjoy it - just talking. Just watching as Ste listens to him, cares about what he's saying, cares about _him_.

There's a lot of things he's only just finding out.

"How's Daniel?"

Ste smiles knowingly. It's an effort for Brendan - takes a good deal of willpower to even ask the question. He likes the man. But the story sticks in his head: Ste had taken him back to his flat. They'd almost -

Sometimes Brendan looks at Danny, wonders if the attraction still exists. Watches when he hugs the boy, laughs at his jokes, buys him presents like he's trying to make up for lost time.

He knows that Ste's comfortable around him. That he loves him. Sometimes Brendan sits in silence as they talk, wonders if he could have had that too if Seamus had been a different man.

The hardest part is that he'll never know.

"He's alright. He says hello."

Brendan sips at his beer, lips lingering on the rim of the glass.

"Really?" He feels touched. It's strange.

"Yeah." Ste nods, knows that Brendan's first thought is that he's lying to him, won't let him believe that. "And Peri keeps asking if you still have the beard." The boy reaches out, fingers feeling the rough hair, looks almost mesmerised doing it.

Brendan likes Peri. She reminds him of Ste: she's not afraid to speak back to him.

"Why?"

"Cos she's seen pictures of you without it. She wants to know what the tache is like."

Brendan runs his hand over the beard. "Do you think I should shave it?"

"I don't know. It would be weird, wouldn't it? Not to have all that stubble rash all over me anymore." The boy nearly splutters over his drink at his own words.

"I seem to remember you still having lots even with this thing," Brendan says softly, finger following the curve of his moustache, not as defined when surrounded by the rest of his facial hair.

Ste smiles, looking caught in a memory, only shaken from it when Darren approaches their table, food in hand.

"Ta." Ste pops a chip in his mouth before the plate even reaches the table. "Wait - we haven't done a cheers, Bren."

Brendan sighs but indulges the boy, raising his glass and clinking it against Ste's.

The smile he gets is worth it. So is watching the boy eat - ever since Brendan's returned, he's put some weight back on, started to fill his clothes again instead of the tracksuits hanging off him, revealing his former protruding ribs.

He's happy. It radiates off him, and Brendan thinks he might be able to forgive himself one day, if he can make that happiness last.

::::::

Brendan starts to believe that his warning has had the desired effect, and Skunk's gone.

He relaxes. Settles back into a pattern, a routine. Takings at the club are up - something that he puts down to the new menu they have, centered around Ste's cooking. They're able to hire more staff, and it means that he and Ste get to have more nights off.

He stops looking over his shoulder. Stops waiting to be blackmailed. Even when he runs into Doug in the street, he doesn't feel a sinking in his stomach, not in the way he used to. They walk past each other, eyes down, no snide comments. Brendan thinks he owes him that much - he did take Ste from him. Twice.

He can start planning for the future for the first time, finally thinks that he might have one. He's financially secure. Amy trusts him with the kids. Declan and Padraig are starting to let him back into their lives again, and Eileen's even exchanging more than two sentences with him at a time.

Things are coming together. He thinks about the life that he had before he went to prison, and one thing sticks out - something that he wanted to do, that he was robbed of.

He wants to make Ste his. Officially. He wants to marry him.

It's a fleeting thought at first, comes to him in the early hours sometimes, one arm curled around Ste in bed, the boy sleeping peacefully beside him. It's not just enough, this life that they have - it's everything. But _boyfriend_ is beginning to sound insubstantial for what they are. Partner sounds too formal, too clinical, too cold.

Husband. Yeah, he could get used to that.

Sometimes he wonders what he's become. He gets a moment of searing hatred for what he is, what he's turned into. It's fast and painful and he hears his father's voice, knows how much he'd despise him for what he's contemplating. Then he reminds himself: Seamus is dead. The old Brendan's dead. This is who he is now, and that moment in the deli that he shared with Ste two years ago - _we're like an old married couple, wouldn't be so bad_ - it's fresh in his mind. He wants it.

He goes into town, is shifty when Ste asks to come with him.

"I need to get some new trackies, don't I?" He's already putting on his trainers, grabbing his umbrella to face the rain outside.

"Don't you have enough already? You could open your own sports shop." Truth is, Brendan likes him in them - reminds him of when they first met, and the boy had a sweeping fringe and more of an attitude than Brendan could handle.

"I'm not asking you to pay for them, if that's what you're thinking."

Brendan's persuasive when he wants to be. He doesn't give Ste time to react, just kisses around his earlobe, hand snaking into the boy's boxer shorts. They stand in the hallway, rain lashing outside, the weather cold, Brendan's hand moving frantically. Ste's breath is hot on his neck as he leans against him, and he doesn't question him, doesn't ask Brendan where all this has come from. He's used to it now, the spontaneity. They both are.

"Fuck." A laugh escapes from his throat, braying and delicious.

Brendan doesn't stop until his hand is full of Ste's come. He walks to the sink afterwards, washing his hands while Ste lies agains the stairs, pulling up his trousers and catching his breath.

He looks up at Brendan through his lashes when he joins him again. Then he shuffles forward on the carpet, unzipping Brendan's jeans, lips parting.

Brendan wants to. Really fucking wants to. Wants nothing more than to feel Ste's mouth around him. But if he doesn't leave now then the boy will find some way of joining him, and his plan will be fucked.

"Later." Brendan kisses him, lips lingering for longer than he intends. He laughs at Ste's evident disappointment. "I'll be back soon."

The image of Ste waiting for him on the carpet, mouth still open, makes Brendan race to his car, determined to be back as quickly as possible.

When he makes it into town, he heads straight to the various jewellers, but nothing seems right. The rings are all too showy, all diamonds and rubies shining brightly behind the glass. It's the kind of thing that he'd have considered buying Eileen. They're not for a man.

It's only when he's about to give up that he finds it. It's the plainest one he's seen - a gold band. He can imagine Ste wearing it.

Brendan buys it before he can change his mind, and races back home for Ste to finish what they started.

::::::

He's not normal.

That's what a parent tells Brendan at the gates of Lucas's school.

_You're off your head, mate. You need help._

He's had help. Has had two years of help. It's changed him, made him control his temper - all that count to twenty shit, it works.

But some things can't change.

He finds Lucas crying in the playground after school, his knee grazed and bloodied. There are tears streaking down his face, and Brendan holds him while he cries against his chest, his small body heaving in his arms.

He doesn't tell him to stop crying. Doesn't tell him to be a man, or any of the things his father would have said. He rubs his back, lets him get it all out, kissing his hair.

"Who did this?"

Lucas points to a boy across the playground. He looks frightened when he sees Brendan. There must be something about his expression, about his eyes.

He takes Lucas's hand, charging over to the boy, feeling like blood's roaring in his ears. He doesn't hit him. You don't hit children. They have to be protected.

But when the boy's mother finds them he's shouting at him, voice raised more than he'd like. All Brendan can feel is Lucas's hand in his, fragile and warm and alive. All he can hear is the sound of his sobs.

Ste's boy. His boy.

He apologises to the woman, does it because he knows that Lucas is bound to tell Ste, and he doesn't want to seem like even more of a dick than he already is. Doesn't want anyone to make an official complaint against him.

And he knows she's right: he's not normal. Not when it comes to Ste.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a Friday when Brendan returned. Ste had seen it on the news, read it in the papers. He had been given a reduced sentence - no one knew the ins and outs, and the lack of information was making the headlines even more sensationalist: A mass murderer who killed his own father walks free after only two years.

No one could understand what was going on. Brendan had admitted to everything - there were more than a dozen witnesses who could vouch for his confession. It's what had made Ste so certain that Brendan would never be released. Any chance he'd had to save himself was lost when he stood on that balcony and spilled his guts out.

Ste and Doug were watching television in the evening when the news first broke. It was rare that Ste even watched the news - he'd tended to avoid it in the past, couldn't summon up the energy to pretend to find it interesting. Everything about it was so too raw, too unsettling - he didn't want to learn about children being taken into care or abuse being uncovered. He'd lived that life.

But with Doug around, it became a part of their evenings, Ste's eyes growing heavy as he failed to concentrate.

Then he heard the name. Brendan Brady. They had a mugshot, Brendan's eyes red, not quite looking into the camera, his expression one of shock. His face was pale. He looked like a ghost.

It felt like neither of them were breathing. Doug didn't glance over at him till the end of the report, eyes as focused on the screen as Ste's were. Ste's mind was racing a mile a minute - it didn't sink in, what the reporter was saying. Only a few words stood out: Released. Free.

Ste couldn't understand how it switched from that to sport, couldn't understand how the world hadn't come to a standstill. He knew rationally that some people wouldn't care, that they'd get on with their lives as normal, but a part of him expected them not to - for them to be as altered in that moment as he was.

Doug was quiet, body slowly turning to face Ste, scanning his eyes. Ste toyed with the food on his plate, appetite lost. He knew Doug was waiting for a reaction, for him to begin talking, but nothing seemed right to say.

"He's coming back then." It was Doug who spoke first, and he sounded startled by his own words. Ste knew that Doug had never thought that Brendan would return. He'd closed the chapter on that part of their lives.

Ste nodded, staring at the television even though it was blank now.

"Did you know about this?" There was an edge of accusation in his voice, as though he thought Ste had been keeping it a secret all this time.

Ste scoffed, anger rising in him like a flame. If he'd found out that Brendan was coming out of prison, there would be no way that he'd be able to act normal. He'd be a wreck.

"No. I had no idea."

"So Cheryl didn't tell you?"

"I haven't even spoken to her in months." It was too difficult. After those first initial visits when Brendan left, his contact with her had died out. He resented her. Hated seeing her happiness - her husband and her mansion and her freedom.

"So Brendan hasn't contacted you?"

Ste wanted to shout at him, _all these fucking questions. _

He kept calm. Reminded himself that this was his husband that he was speaking to.

"We haven't talked for two years." There was something in his voice that he despised. A shake. A vulnerability, even after all this time.

Especially after all this time. The years made it harder.

"That's okay then." Doug seemed calmer, and Ste wondered if he'd been thinking that for all these years, that he and Brendan had been secretly talking behind his back. "He probably won't even come back here."

Ste kept his eyes on the floor. "Why not? He's got the club."

Except he didn't. The Loft's sign stared back at him every day. The inside had changed, but everything about it was still Brendan's. The office, the chair - it belonged to him.

"He doesn't have any family here, Ste. All his friends - if you could call them that - have gone. Or died," he added, and Ste knew he was thinking of Lynsey, thought that he should reach out, comfort him. He did nothing. "You don't have to worry. He's not going to come back."

That's exactly what Ste was worried about.

::::::

They don't intend to have more than a couple of drinks. Ste buys a few cans from the shops, and Brendan pours himself some whiskey, smelling it before he drinks it, look of pure anticipation in his eyes.

They settle back on the sofa, some food to soak up the booze. Ste offered to cook, but Brendan knows what he's like - knows that once he starts working in that kitchen, chances are he won't be finished for another two hours. It's become a war zone for Ste's newest recipes at the club, and most nights Brendan trips over shopping bags as he tries to get to the microwave.

They have a takeaway, pizza shared between them. Ste's mouth shines with the grease of it, and it occurs to Brendan that it should look disgusting, but it doesn't. It looks inviting.

The boy's mouth tastes of hot cheese and tomato when he licks into it. They're curled up on the sofa, not even watching anything, just talking, and predictably, talking leads to groping, Brendan's hands travelling down Ste's tracksuit bottoms.

"Here?" Ste asks, and Brendan nods against his skin. He doesn't have the inclination to move to the bedroom. The sofa they have now is larger than the one that used to be in Ste's flat, and Brendan sits up, the boy wriggling from underneath him to make himself more comfortable.

There's a satisfying rub of the material as they kiss, their bodies pressing up against it, Ste's hand caught between their stomachs. At first Brendan thinks he's going to find his zipper, but he has other ideas, and Brendan listens to the rustle of his trousers, the boy's hand curling around himself, taking his cock in his palm roughly.

"You want to make yourself come, or..." Brendan breathes it into his mouth. Ste's skin is red from his beard rubbing against it.

"No." The boy doesn't take his hand away. "I'm just...you know."

Warming himself up.

"Let me..." Brendan puts his hand on Ste's trousers, rolling them off and up over his feet until there's just his bare legs, the dark, dense hair covering them that spikes when Brendan runs his fingers over it.

Ste's dick is flushed, erect. Brendan caresses a hand down the boy's leg as he watches him working himself to full thickness, tip of his thumb flicking over the head, rolling back his foreskin. There are red patches across his body, over his chest and cheeks. He's not embarrassed - Brendan would know if he was. His eyes are bright as they make contact with Brendan, growing darker as they take in the protruding outline in Brendan's trousers.

"We didn't eat all the pizza."

Brendan laughs at the comment, feels so utterly meaningless and out of place in this moment.

"Doesn't matter." He's not sure he could do this on a full stomach - when did he get so old? - and he wants to do this. It's been in the back of his mind all day, a constant thought ever since they were interrupted by a phone call from Mitzeee. She'd seemed suspicious of Brendan's breathless voice, just seconds after having seen off Ste's morning erection.

"You two been shagging again?" She sounded like she wanted all the gory details.

"No." He wasn't going to entertain her fantasies, thought that she had already seen far too much.

"One second." He kisses Ste, an apology for delaying this, and chuckles as the boy whines as Brendan goes to the bedroom, hunting through the drawers to find the lube. He's gone for less than ten seconds, but when he returns he finds Ste completely naked, his finger teasing his entrance.

Brendan leans against the wall, and Ste watches him as he presses the finger in, slowly.

He puts on a show. He's loud, always has been, but he's not _this_ loud. He spreads himself out, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted, an _mmm_ escaping his mouth, legs open to let Brendan see everything.

"Now you're just trying to torture me."

He stops talking when pre-come pools from Ste's dick. Stops talking when the boy releases a guttural moan and a _come here, Brendan. I need you. _

Brendan tears his clothes off, fingers frantic on his shirt. He fists his cock, hissing at the sensation, at how good it feels, how ready he is. Ste's ready too: he positions his legs on Brendan's shoulders, guiding Brendan's cock inside him.

The pizza isn't forgotten. They lie next to each other afterwards, feeding slices into one another's mouths, grins stretching their faces. Mitzeee calls for the second time that day, voice drifting through the answer machine, demanding.

_You're shagging again, aren't you? Call me if you ever stop._

::::::

An unrecognised number called him.

Ste answered it, already preparing to have to speak to a telemarketer. After being on his feet at the deli all day, he wasn't in the mood to be polite.

"Steven."

Ste's hold on the phone almost gave way. He clutched it tightly just before it slipped from his grasp.

"What?" His voice was a whisper. He felt disorientated.

"It's me." That's all he had to say. Ste would recognise his voice anywhere.

"Brendan?" The question was just to bide him time - afford him a few seconds of trying to work things out, understand why the hell Brendan was calling him.

"Yeah." Silence, then a few uncomfortable moments of Brendan clearing his throat, sounding as though he had no idea what to say either. "You okay?"

Ste nearly spluttered, caught himself at the last moment. _Was he okay? _Fuck. He didn't know where to begin.

"What do you want?" He knew he sounded hostile. He liked that. He hoped that it made Brendan hurt.

Brendan stuttered. It was strange to hear him be nervous.

"I just...thought I'd check in."

Ste didn't hide his laugh this time, let it rack through his body and try and fill the emptiness.

"Check in? You've been gone for..." He couldn't bring himself to say two years. It felt too wasted. Time that neither of them would ever get back.

"I know." Brendan sounded ashamed, seemed to know that no matter what he said he would get it wrong, because none of this would ever be right. "You heard about me getting out?"

"Yeah. Are you in Ireland?"

"No."

"With Cheryl?" He wondered if it would be any easier for Brendan, spending time with the person who took away their future.

"No."

That surprised Ste. He felt hope sparking within him, could vanish in an instant but it was there, fluttering in his stomach.

"I'm in Chester."

Brendan was within walking distance of him.

Ste tried to think why - tried to work out why Brendan would be here, why he hadn't sought out his sister or his kids right away.

He knew, of course. But it was dangerous to believe in it.

"Can I see you?"

Ste could feel his heart banging in his chest, feeling like it was fighting for release. Brendan sounded just the same. Ste wondered if he would look the same too. If he would love him the same.

His eyes focused on Doug's jacket lying on the sofa. He was out at the shops, back at any second.

"You can't."

"Oh. Right."

"It's not a good time." He kept it vague on purpose, but Brendan seemed to know.

"Have you got someone there with you?" His voice twisted in pain: Ste was sure he wasn't imagining that.

He wanted to deny it. It would hurt him too, revealing the truth. Two years: he could have waited. Could have waited thirty years, but two - he could have coped with that. He could have visited Brendan, filled in the time until his release. He wouldn't have needed anyone else. He wouldn't have needed Doug.

But he'd done this before - had thought that it was forever on that bridge three years ago. It was taken from him then, and he couldn't go through that again. There would be nothing left this time.

"Doug. Doug's with me."

He heard Brendan's intake of breath, closed his eyes against it.

"You're together now, aren't you?"

Excuses bubbled in Ste's mind, coming thick and fast. "You were gone, and Doug, he really loves me - he took care of me, and -"

"Doesn't matter, Steven." Brendan's voice had changed completely, the traces of warmth gone. Ste hated this shell, was scared when faced with it. And he didn't know what he meant - didn't know if Brendan was saying that it didn't matter because he didn't care, or it didn't matter because it would always be about them - always Ste and Brendan, no matter who else was in their lives.

"You're still in the same place, yeah? Our - the flat?"

"Still there."

"And Leah and Lucas? Do they live with you now?"

"Amy has them most days. We see them on weekends usually."

"But..."

"But what?" Ste pressed, knew that he had to keep Brendan talking. Couldn't hear the sound of a dial tone and lose that voice all over again.

"I thought that with me being gone, she'd..."

"Let them back into my life?" Ste had thought the same at first. "Things happened."

_Things_. Him dealing drugs. Helping Pauline to die. Getting into fights. Spending his days drunk, waking up on the carpet, a pool of sick beside him. Amy found out - every detail that he wanted to keep hidden.

The silence was for him to fill in the gaps, but Ste didn't, couldn't. He didn't want Brendan to know how fucked up he was, all because of him.

"How are they? The kids." Brendan sounded concerned, as though Ste's answer meant a great deal to him. Doug loved Leah and Lucas, but it didn't feel like this. Didn't feel like when Brendan was around. Despite his grumbling about babysitting, Ste had known that he'd lay down his life for them. He'd trusted him with them, knew that Brendan would protect them.

Ste couldn't say anymore. It felt too personal. They had been a family once, and now Brendan was asking him to update him on the kids lives, hadn't a clue what had happened to them in the last few years, what they'd been through. Didn't know about Leah's first crush on a boy. Didn't know about Lucas's new haircut, the blond hair styled into something more manageable, less likely to make his son scream when Ste tried to comb it. All these big things, and all the little ones - he didn't know any of it.

"I have to go." He could almost hear the keys in the lock, could imagine Doug finding him holding onto the phone, ear pressed so hard against it that it created a mark. He'd have to choose between them if that happened - choose whether to hang up and spend the rest of his life with Doug, or keep talking to Brendan and lose his husband.

He put the phone down abruptly, hit the table with such a crash that he felt like he was damaging it. He chewed his fingernails, a habit that he hadn't had since he was a child. He didn't move from the spot, half believing that Brendan would call back, scared that he wanted him to.

He waited. And waited. He waited until Doug came back, completely oblivious to what had happened, shopping in hand, telling Ste with a smile that he'd been chatted up by the guy serving him.

Ste wanted to feel jealous.

"I hope you told him you're already taken." He came up behind him, hands on Doug's hips. He started kissing his neck, Doug turning towards him.

"What's all this about?"

With Doug there always had to be a reason: Ste couldn't just kiss him. Maybe because he rarely did. It was always a prelude to something: a prelude to them going to bed.

Ste had kissed Brendan all the time, whenever he wanted to. It felt good.

"Just missed you, didn't I?"

Doug looked surprised, but pleased. "You've been with me all day."

Ste silenced him with a kiss, one on the lips this time. He took his hand, leading him towards the bedroom.

When he checked his phone afterwards, he had no new calls. No new messages. It was only then that he wondered if Brendan had remembered his number in the years since they'd been separated. If he'd memorised it by heart.

::::::

"Oi, chef. You coming?" Brendan pokes his head round the door, trying to see Ste through the steam in the kitchen. Sometimes he regrets expanding Chez Chez: he's lost his best barman, has to contend with Ste donning an apron instead of that tight fitting black t-shirt that clings in all the right places.

"Go without me."

"It's your night off. Our night off." He emphasises the our, tries to make his intentions clear.

"I want to try some recipes, get them perfect for this weekend."

"You're choosing food over me?"

"Says the man who was eating a jam sandwich when I was trying to get him off."

"It's called multitasking. I'm talented."

"Hmm." Ste moves around the kitchen, busying himself with collecting pots and pans, the clatter almost louder than the beat of the music from the dance floor.

"I'm gonna have to pull an all nighter. Sorry Bren - I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

Brendan sighs, already knowing how this is going to go.

He takes his jacket off, putting it on a chair in the corner, rolling up his sleeves.

"What are you doing?"

"If you're staying, then I'm staying."

Ste's face lights up, and he walks swiftly towards Brendan, throwing his arms around him.

"You sure?"

"Definitely." It stirs something in his mind. Two years ago. A kitchen. Something momentous.

They had been like an old married couple. And it wouldn't have been so bad.

Brendan doesn't have the ring, but he doesn't need it, not right now. It's this moment: it's this. It's going to be tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

It's quiet now. The staff have gone for the night, taking the drunk club revellers with them.

The first thing they do is put on some music, and it turns into an argument, Ste up in his face, _we always listen to yours,_ and Brendan thinks he could do this, could do this for the rest of his life.

They're not making bread, not this time. Brendan thinks it would be too acute of a reminder of the years they missed, right when everything was within their grasp. It's fresh pasta this time, the kind that you don't get from a packet, and Brendan squints at it on the countertop, touching it like he's never seen anything like it before.

"I don't understand."

Ste frowns, forehead crinkling. "What?"

"Why not just get the ready made stuff?"

"You do get the whole purpose of being a chef, don't you? It's to invent things, come up with new recipes." The boy's got his _I'm teaching you a lesson_ voice on. Brendan doesn't tell him, not ever, but he finds it - this passion, these skills - captivating.

"Alright kid."

"Don't call me kid."

Brendan smiles, making sure that Ste doesn't see. He likes him like this: feisty. He gives him a few minutes, mentally counting how long the boy can stay in a sulk for.

He lasts three minutes before turning to Brendan, planting a kiss on his mouth, his lips almost resisting at first before he wraps his arms around him, his apron rubbing against Brendan's shirt.

"You can have your music."

"No. Lets have yours - that Cheryl Cole crap, if you like."

Ste almost skips on the way to the CD player. His grin's worth the sacrifice.

"Right, what do you want me to do?"

"Grate this cheese, won't ya?"

Brendan rarely cooks, not any more. It's the norm for them to order a takeout or have Ste make him something. He can make a good crème brûlée though, if pressed.

The boy's happy, humming to himself, shimmying to the music. Brendan watches out of the corner of his eye. Ste's still as uncoordinated as ever, his limbs flailing clumsily, his hips not moving in time to the music, but there's something about the lack of care - the lack of self consciousness. He's fearless.

He wants to say it now, wants to ask him, but there's something about proposing while his boyfriend's dancing to a Cheryl Cole song that he can't do. He has _some_ class.

"Keep on grating!" Ste nods to Brendan's hands which have stilled, and he quickly resumes what he was doing, half afraid that Ste can read his mind, knows what's coming.

He wonders how Doug proposed. Wonders if he planned it to the finest detail, and if anything afterwards will be a disappointment, a consolation prize.

"Steven?"

"Hmm?" The boy's not really focusing, is chopping the tomatoes with his tongue between his teeth.

"Are you happy?"

Ste looks at him wide eyed, disbelief curling at the edges.

"_What?"_

"I'm just saying." Brendan feels defensive, wishes he hadn't asked.

"You know, sometimes I think you're the smartest person I've ever met. And other times - other times it's like you don't see anything."

Brendan goes to the other side of the kitchen, turning on the taps and washing his hands, back to Ste.

"Forget about it."

"No."

He feels a warmth beside him, Ste's arm brushing against his own.

"Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Lets not make a big deal out of this."

"No, come on." Ste turns Brendan round to face him, hands on his shoulders. "Do you not think that this - all of this - is everything that I've ever wanted?"

"You know us, Steven. Something always gets in the way." Brendan huffs a laugh, nothing about this amusing, but he needs to prepare himself for the disappointment. Nothing in his life has ever stayed good, not forever.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

_He knows. _A flash of panic crosses Brendan's face and he masks it, hopes that it's quick enough to stop Ste from seeing anything.

"Cos if there is - you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

Brendan doesn't think he's imagining the boy's pressure on his shoulders increasing, the jolt of tension there. He can't escape Ste's gaze. Even when he glances down he can feel it burning into him, Ste searching his face, trying to work him out.

It feels too good, all of this. Like the universe can't leave them in peace for too long. That's not how this works. The proposal feels like a ticking time bomb. Brendan wants it, wants it more than anything in his life, but when he asks it, when he releases the words -

"I know."

::::::

"Ste."

Ste moved over in the bed, pressing his ear more firmly against the pillow to try and drown out the noise.

He grunted as he felt his arm being shaken, mumbling under his breath, demanding to be left alone.

"We're going to be late." He could hear the concern in Doug's voice, and it made him open his eyes, blinking into the morning light.

"Five more seconds."

"I know you. Five more seconds means two more hours."

"It's early..." He'd woken at this time everyday for the past four years. His body had grown used to it, but it wouldn't let him get up now. Tiredness weighed down his bones.

He shivered when he felt a light breeze, and only realised when he stared down that the cover had been lifted, exposing his lower half.

"What are you -"

Doug's hands were on the material of his t-shirt, moving it out of the way so that his stomach was exposed, goosebumps rising. He watched as Doug dipped his head and began to lay kisses around his nipples, gradually leading down to his belly button. Ste wriggled: he felt disarmed by what was happening. They never had time in the morning for this, and he hadn't asked Doug for anything - had expected Doug to grow irritated, not to do _this_.

"Doug." It sounded like a rejection.

"Just lie back."

Ste did as he was told, relieved that Doug wasn't looking at his face. When he peeled his boxers off, Ste yelped at the sensation of Doug's cold hand securing around his cock, his husband apologising with a grin, removing his palm and replacing it with his mouth.

Ste relaxed in the bed, working to make his mind blank.

Doug took him down all the way, so far that he began to draw back and gag. He licked around the head of Ste's cock the way he liked, and alternated between using his hands and his lips and his tongue.

Ste couldn't get hard. That had never happened before.

He felt embarrassed. Humiliated. He could sense Doug's growing frustration, couldn't bear to hear the increasing pants as he tried to deep throat Ste for as long as possible. There was something wrong with him - there must be.

"Sorry." He sounded miserable. Felt miserable.

Doug released his cock, cheek leaning against Ste's thigh. He looked desirable - lips plump and glistening with saliva.

"We can keep trying."

Ste hated hearing that. It made him feel like even more of a failure, and he hoisted himself off the bed, pulling on his clothes and feeling sickness gnawing at him.

"I'm really tired - Leah woke in the night, so..."

He felt disgusted at himself for using the kids as his excuse.

"Later." He kissed Doug, a promise, and started getting ready for work.

::::::

Ste was in the back of the deli, putting away new stock and taking orders.

It floated through around lunchtime like an echo. A jam sandwich and a coffee.

Only one person had ever ordered that.

His hand was on the door, pushing it open so that it swayed on its hinges. He scanned the deli, neck craning and eyes bright, hands locked as he walked past the counter and onto the main floor.

"What are you looking for?"

He didn't answer, just kept on searching, heart slowing to its normal rhythm when he couldn't see him.

"Jam sandwich and a coffee?"

"Yeah - for that guy over there." Doug nodded to the customer sitting in the corner, a builder who Ste had seen around the village a few times.

"Right." There was a dryness in Ste's mouth and he licked his lips, trying to clear it. "It'll just be a second."

He avoided Doug's gaze, letting out a breath when the kitchen door closed behind him. He couldn't find the bread, suddenly didn't know where to look, and he riffled through cupboards but he couldn't see the butter, his eyes unfocused.

He could find the jam though. He brought a new one every time it expired, even though a whole jar could go to waste, and there was little chance of anyone ever wanting it. He kept it behind other ingredients in the store cupboard, tucked away, hidden. His fingers closed gingerly around it.

"Fuck." He repeated it, said it louder, had to stop himself from screaming it. He would have done if Doug hadn't been on the other side of the wall.

He filled the day with mindless chatter and small talk, painting over any silences with braying laughter and empty jokes. He was terrified that any spaces in conversation would give Doug the opportunity to tell him that he knew all about Brendan and the phone call, and that he was never coming back.

::::::

Brendan eats all the pasta.

Ste resists at firsts and scolds him, eyes blazing, accent thick.

"I was meant to keep some of that, give them out as free samples."

Brendan shrugs, spooning more into his mouth, challenging look in his eye. They move to the sofa then, plates of pasta between them, cans of beer on the table. Ste's legs are draped over Brendan's lap, shoes kicked off.

Sometimes Ste forgets that they have a flat waiting for them. It can feel like home here.

"What do you think?" He's nervous now, earlier confidence gone. He trusts Brendan's opinion more than anyone, and a criticism from him is the sharpest sting.

"It's fucking _perfect_." As if to prove his point Brendan picks up more of the pasta, ignoring the cutlery in front of him, penne dangling from his mouth.

"You're just saying that cos you have to. Comes with the boyfriend territory, innit?"

"Steven, if your cooking was shit, I'd tell you. Luckily for the both of us, you're a genius."

Ste colours beside him, heat spreading to his cheeks. "Really?"

"Kid, you're the most talented person I've ever met."

Ste doesn't tell him not to call him kid. Sometimes he likes it.

"Do you think I should cook it for my dad sometime?"

Brendan's quiet, chewing on his mouthful. "Why, are you going round there for dinner?"

Danny and Ste meet at the pub for lunch sometimes, but they've never had a family evening, not since Brendan's been back.

"No - John Paul will be there, won't he?" The boy says, as though it's obvious. He scrunches up his face, looking like there's a bad taste in his mouth. "I'm not making this for him. He'd probably look down his nose at it, the poncy git."

Brendan laughs, cutting off when he sees Ste's disapproval. It's like a car crash whenever John Paul and Ste are together - you don't want to look, but you can't not.

"I thought I might invite him round to ours."

Brendan bites back the words in his throat, the immediate rejection that forms.

"Sure. Invite your sisters too."

Surprise flitters across Ste's face. "You sure?"

"Yeah. They're not that bad."

He catches the look of amazement that Ste throws him, drinking from his can and pretending that he doesn't see it.

If Brendan's going to be Ste's husband, then he better be on side with the in laws.

::::::

Someone was knocking on the door.

"Have you forgot your keys?"

Ste knew before he even answered it who it was going to be. Doug never forgot anything.

He tried to close the door, Brendan's foot wedged there.

"Steven -"

"Go away." He used all his strength to try and get it closed, but Brendan was stronger than him, always had been.

He was fucking _massive_ now. Arms ripped and chest broad, muscles defined under his clinging grey t-shirt, exposed at the neck. Ste could see the scattering of dark hair, seemed like there was more of it than ever.

He didn't want to notice these things. Didn't want to look at the beard that was there now, even thicker than the one that he'd had after leaving prison the first time. But unlike that first time, his face looked clean, untouched - not the damaged, bruised face that had been torn into.

It gave Ste hope. He'd had nightmares about what people would do to Brendan inside.

"Steven, please." He'd rarely heard Brendan plead, but he was was pleading with him now, voice desperate and broken.

"Doug's here. You can't come in."

"I just saw him leaving."

His words were enough to make Ste release the door, hands frozen.

"Have you - have you been watching me?" He sounded angrier than he felt.

Brendan didn't apologise. "I couldn't exactly talk to you while he was here, could I?"

"You shouldn't be talking to me at all. I thought you'd have gone back to Ireland."

"I couldn't. I couldn't leave you."

The honesty startled Ste. He'd grown used to the Brendan who'd shut him out, who'd ignored his letters and his attempts to visit.

"I'm married." He felt like he was reading from a script, knew that it hadn't stopped him the last time, hadn't stopped him on that bridge.

He knew Brendan was thinking the same, was scared that he'd say it.

"Just let me have fifteen minutes."

"Doug will be back." He mumbled it, felt like if he spoke too loudly then Brendan was in danger of disappearing, vanishing into thin air. He was like an apparition that Ste had summoned.

Only it was too late. Too late for ghosts and what he'd dreamed of in the past.

"You're lying." He said it without malice, but Ste narrowed his eyes, used the anger that had been brewing inside of him for the past two years.

"I don't want you here. I love him - I love Doug, and we're happy now, me and him. You were the thing getting in the way. I chose him, Brendan - _him_. And I will choose him over you every single time."

Ste could hear the cars driving past outside. It felt strange that the world was still moving when everything had stopped for him.

He'd never seen Brendan like this. That day in the hospital - he'd been detached from him, like he was already saying goodbye.

He wasn't saying goodbye now.

He stood at the door, eyes rimmed with red. He didn't move, didn't raise a hand, didn't tell Ste he loved him, didn't tell him that he hated him.

It had been two years since they'd stood this close together. It had filled Ste's fantasies at night: what he'd do, what he'd say. The way he'd touch him, hands everywhere at once. It would take them forever to make up for lost time, but they'd do it, one day. Because fuck, it was worth it.

"I love Doug." He was embarrassed by the snot gathering above his upper lip, wanted to wipe it away but was afraid of drawing attention to it.

"Okay."

Ste could see his words sinking in, could see as they buried themselves underneath Brendan's skin. Brendan nodded, eyes raised to the sky, and Ste could see that they were shining. It was a powerful thing, making Brendan cry.

"I'm gonna leave you alone now."

Ste smiled tightly. His mouth didn't feel right. His jaw didn't feel right.

"Good." He wanted to add _have a nice life_, thought that it would be a fitting, bitter parting shot, but he wasn't sure if he wanted that - didn't know whether he wanted Brendan to suffer, didn't know whether he'd be happier if he did.

"Probably gonna go and see Chez, see my kids."

"Right." Ste hoped he couldn't see how he was hanging onto this, all of this. How he was memorising it, every word, the way he was saying it. He thought he'd remembered the sound of Brendan's voice, but he hadn't - in his dreams, it had never been this perfect, this clear.

Brendan moved his foot from the door and Ste stepped back, thought that Brendan was about to reach out and hold him. He almost wanted it. Almost reached out and did the same thing.

"See you."

The way Brendan looked at him unnerved him. His eyes settled everywhere - hungrily, greedily, taking it all in. Ste crossed his arms in front of him, wanted to cover himself, his tracksuit worn at the edges, his t-shirt creased.

Brendan followed his movements, every single one.

"Nothing's changed for me."

He smiled, seemed like the saddest smile in the world, and left.

::::::

He loves the feel of it when he's riding him. Loves to hook his arms around Brendan's back, pulling him closer, sweat mixing with sweat and skin against skin.

He's got control like this, and Brendan lets him take it. Watches as Ste lines his cock up and teases his rim with it, barely stretching it. He does it several times, almost pushing all the way in only to take it out at the last moment, hands closing over it instead, keeping Brendan hard.

He does it until Brendan grows impatient, whispering demands into his ear, an urgent _come on, do it._

Ste lets out a breathy laugh. There's barely any space on the chair, but there's a beauty to that - he likes the satisfying sound of the material squeaking as he rises and falls on Brendan's cock.

Before he has a chance to prolong the teasing, Brendan pushes up into him from below, knocking the wind out of Ste.

He lets out an _ooomph_ of surprise, holding onto Brendan tighter, making sure that he won't slide from his lap.

Then he begins to ride. He finds the spot - the spot that, when he rubs Brendan's cock against it, makes his orgasm tear at the edges, fighting to be released. Brendan feels it too, feels the changes in Ste's body, the way that his thighs begin to shake and his cock grows thicker against his stomach, oozing at the slit.

The boy becomes overwhelmed, eyes at half mast, hands growing slack around Brendan as his movements increase. Brendan takes the control back - thrusts up into him and makes Ste swear, ceasing his own actions, Brendan making him come sooner than he'd like.

Brendan's still on the chair, dick still inside the boy, hands moving over his nipples and making them hard.

"Are you gonna..." Ste nods at their interlocked bodies.

"Stand up."

Ste climbs off him, wincing as Brendan's cock slips out of him, his hands full of his own semen.

He moves towards the door, but Brendan lays a hand on his arm.

"I need to clean myself up -"

"Leave it. I've got a bit of a situation here." He glances down at his cock, standing thick and proud in front of him.

Ste grins, moving to his knees on the floor. He strokes him from root to tip, his come acting as lubrication, easing the glide. He listens to Brendan's directions, changing his pace when he tells him harder, stroking the underside when he asks him to.

When Brendan tells him to suck him, his lips secure tightly, no air escaping.

Ste swallows him down, not relenting until Brendan shoots down his throat, knees giving way and sitting propped up against the wall, dick soft. Ste kisses him with Brendan's come in his mouth, hot and salty, and everything with this boy still feels like the most intimate thing he's ever done.

"I thought of a new name for the club."

Ste blinks and looks dazed, come drying against his stomach, making him look obscene.

"Chez Chez?"

"Yeah."

"So we've settled on Ste's Palace then?"

Brendan nudges him with his foot and earns a filthy laugh from Ste, the kind that sounds even filthier after sex.

"How about Brady's?"

He's got that look again. The sulkiness. The pout.

"That's nice for you and Cheryl and all, but what about me? I own that business too Bren, and I want -"

"No," he interrupts, a finger pressed against Ste's mouth. "It's for me and you."

He waits for the boy to understand, for him to make this easier. He looks lost.

"I want you to be a Brady, Steven. I want us to get married."


	7. Chapter 7

Ste knows that Brendan's awake when he feels the prickly hairs of his beard rubbing against his back, Brendan's breath ghosting across his skin. Ste leans back into it, Brendan's arms looping around his waist, pulling him closer.

"I had the weirdest dream last night."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan's voice is thick with sleep.

"Yeah. I dreamed that we were in the club, and you kissed me, and didn't stop kissing me, and then you asked me to marry you."

Brendan grunts. "Jesus. Sounds like a nightmare. Can you imagine me proposing? I'd be a mess."

He can feel Brendan hard against his arse, cock digging into him.

"I don't know. It was actually pretty perfect."

He rolls over in bed to face him, Brendan's skin pale in the morning light, his eyes soft. There's something wonderful about seeing him like this - newly awake, without any product in his hair, naked underneath the bedcovers.

Brendan takes his hand, thumb smoothing over the ring.

"Fuck."

"Are you regretting it?" Ste scans his face, tries to see what he's thinking - if last night was just about being caught in a moment.

"No. I'm just...I can't believe -"

"Me neither," Ste admits. It makes his head spin to think about the fact that Brendan wants to marry him.

"Do you like it?" Brendan asks, staring down at the ring, looks almost protective of it.

Ste raises his lips to it, kissing the metal, a smile reaching Brendan's eyes as he watches him.

"It feels right this time, doesn't it? I mean with Doug, it never..." Ste falters. He still feels a sense of guilt for talking about Doug, for voicing anything negative, no matter how much truth there is behind it. Ste left _him_. He sees it every time he passes Doug in the street - has to contend with the memories of the day he walked away from their marriage.

Brendan answers him with a kiss. There are dark shadows under his eyes, the result of a night spent celebrating until the early hours, not falling asleep until five o'clock. They'd gone from the club to the flat, opening the last of the whiskey and cans of beer. Ste's tipsiness had developed into him dancing on the sofa, swaying with his eyes closed and a grin stretching his lips, taking his clothes off one by one until he was naked in front of Brendan, Brendan carrying him to bed.

There had been something different about last night. They'd locked hands as Brendan had made that first push inside him, and he'd seen it - the ring, the confirmation that Ste was his forever. That however much Brendan doubted his decision, Ste had chosen him out of everyone, and he wasn't going to spend anymore of his life trying to run from it.

"How long have we got before we have to be in work?"

Brendan glances at the clock, feels the boy begin to wrap his legs around him.

"Long enough."

He's quick in preparing him. He's impatient, squirting the lube into his palm, not caring that he uses too much and makes Ste gasp at the feeling of the coldness entering him. The boy adjusts: his fingernails score down Brendan's back, dragging him closer, engulfing him in his own heat.

When Brendan dips in with his tongue - can't resist, doesn't care if he gets the commercial taste of the lube at first instead of Ste - Ste's nails dig in deeper, and his bottom lip juts out.

"No, Brendan. I want..."

He reaches forward, hand securing around Brendan's cock, playing with it.

Whatever Ste wants, Brendan will give him - he made that promise a long time before he asked him to marry him.

"Okay. Okay, Steven."

Suddenly what Ste wants, he wants too.

He's warm, and soft, and his insides stretch to let Brendan in. It feels effortless. Feels like Ste's opening up, is letting him in without fear or pain, mouth open but no words coming out, just gasps ripped from the heart of him.

Brendan starts out slow, but Ste's limbs curl around him, demanding more. He focuses on the ring, the solid gold band that's around Ste's finger, a reminder that last night wasn't a dream. He doesn't take his eyes off it, tries to prevent himself from coming, wants to prolong this, but it makes him come sooner - feels too much, all of this. More than he ever thought he'd have.

Ste licks the single tear that escapes from Brendan's eye as they lie together, the saltiness gathering on his tongue and disappearing with a kiss.

::::::

They decided to renew their vows. Ste decided it: reminded Doug what a disaster their first wedding had been. How then things had happened - _obstacles_ had got in the way. He didn't mention Brendan's name, didn't mention Dublin, but it was between them, all around them.

"Ste, I know that I'm lucky to get a second chance. If there were two doors and I was behind one and Brendan was behind the other - you'd choose him, wouldn't you?"

Ste kissed him, tried to take the doubt away.

"I'd choose your door. Every single time. I made mistakes in the past - stupid mistakes, yeah? I never should have... I should of gone to America with you, Doug."

He was shaking when Doug hugged him.

They had a party to celebrate. Decorated the flat and invited Amy and the kids and Doug's friends. Ste barely recognised some of them - didn't want to ask their names, didn't want to show how detached he felt from the whole thing, from Doug's world.

John Paul was invited. Ste wasn't asked about it first - had to accept that he'd be their cheapest option in terms of music, that they were getting a DJ for free.

Doug looked at him like he was being unreasonable.

"He's your dad's boyfriend. You're going to have to accept him as part of your life one day."

"It's not just that." He felt his temper rising, wasn't helping that John Paul had rejected most of Ste's suggestions of songs to play.

"What is it then?"

"It's - he's your ex, isn't he?"

Doug laughed. "That was two years ago. We only dated for a few weeks."

"Yeah, but - how do you think that makes me feel, eh?"

People were starting to stare at them, Amy's eyes on them from across the room. Ste could imagine what she was thinking: _don't fuck this up. You're lucky that he gave you another chance. _

"You're being ridiculous." Doug looked away, looked like he was ending the conversation.

"Fine."

"Where are you going?"

Ste had picked his jacket up from the sofa, spilling a bowl of crisps that had been placed there. People looked at him like he was an unruly party guest. They didn't even know who he was, didn't know that this was his house.

"I need some air. Just...don't come and find me."

He felt like he could breathe again when he left the house, the steady thump of the music softer now. Everyone was talking and laughing inside: he doubted his disappearance would affect anything.

He heard something, a movement. He looked up into the darkness, eyes searching.

"Hello?"

When he didn't hear anything, he started walking, hands in pockets and head down, trainers scuffing against the pavement. His phone was vibrating in his pocket, but he didn't look at the screen, didn't see who was calling him. Doug was right: he was being ridiculous, and he didn't know why.

He could hear footsteps behind him, turned but there was nothing there.

"Alright, just - come out, yeah?" He didn't care that he was talking to thin air. "Come on."

When Brendan stepped under the street light, it felt like when Ste had seen him on the bridge, when the crowds had parted and there he was, standing there. Waiting for him. Taking a chance on him.

But Brendan hadn't looked anywhere near as scared then as he did now.

"Aw look, it's my own personal stalker."

Brendan let out a hum of laughter at Ste's words. It didn't touch his eyes.

"Running out of your own party? Feels like old times, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, except I'm not running to you anymore, am I?"

"You're not running to Douglas either though, are you?"

Ste shook his head in disbelief, acted like Brendan's words disgusted him. That he was pathetic.

"I'm just popping to the shops, actually. Gonna go get us some more beer, celebrate."

Brendan cleared his throat. Ste knew he couldn't possibly know about what he and Doug had planned - not unless he'd been inside that flat. But he looked resigned to something. Like he was already giving up.

"Celebrate?"

Ste could see his breath in the cold air, Brendan's hands in his coat pockets. He was wearing the coat he wore in Dublin, fur lining the collar. Ste wondered if it was on purpose.

He took a step closer, wanted Brendan to hear his words, wanted them to cut him.

"We're getting married again. Renewing our vows."

Brendan flinched. Looked like Ste had hit him. Then the mask went up: his eyes were cold, face impassive.

"Congratulations."

"Congrat - _congratulations_?" Ste spat on the street. "Are you dead inside?" He moved so close to Brendan that he could almost feel the prickle of the man's beard against his skin, could imagine how it would feel. "Do you feel _nothing_?"

He hit Brendan's chest, hit him until Brendan staggered back. He didn't look shocked. Just let Ste do it, his body a willing victim, taking it all.

"I waited for you for two years you bastard." He couldn't stop. He felt shame coursing through his body, wanted to walk away, wanted to keep up the coldness. Brendan was seeing everything now, was seeing all his ugliness. "I would have done anything for you to walk through my door. I wrote to you, I tried to visit you. Do you want to know what I got in return? Fucking _nothing_, Brendan. I never got a reply - I never got to see you. That was your choice. So don't come back here making judgements on my life."

"I'm not judging you." Brendan was quiet, eyes downcast.

"Yeah you are - I know you. You're thinking how could I do that to you, how could I move on. How could I be with Doug again, who you've always hated."

"I only hate him because he gets to be with you."

"That's all because of _you_. Do you think I ever would of -" Ste stopped, hands raking through his hair, crying now. "Fuck Brendan, I never wanted anyone else, my whole life. Cos since I met you - that was my life. That's when it started. That's when I woke up. But I couldn't wait for you when you didn't wait for me."

"I waited for you every day." He reached out, tried to put a hand on Ste's cheek, kept trying even when the boy pushed it away. "You were the only thing I thought about in there."

"You expect me to believe that? Then why didn't you ever let me see you?"

"I thought I was there for life, Steven. Jesus, I couldn't let you visit me in that place. I couldn't let you hold onto someone like me."

"You were the best -" Ste wiped his nose against his sleeve, clothes wet with his tears. "You were the best man I've ever known."

"Past tense. Ouch."

"Trust you to make a joke at a time like this." Ste soaked up his tears, taking a deep breath, eyes travelling to the flat. "I have to make Doug that now, Brendan. I need to focus on him, give this everything."

"Says who? Douglas? The police? No one's holding you hostage, Steven."

"I'm married. Don't you get what that means?"

"I was married too. Didn't exactly work out."

"That's different," Ste dismissed, but he didn't brush Brendan's hand away when it went to his cheek again. He needed to have this moment, needed to feel Brendan again. Needed to know he was real.

"Please just leave me alone."

Brendan was the one to remove his hand.

"No."

"_No?"_ The anger that had momentarily faded was getting to the surface again. "It's not up to you -"

"I didn't fight for you enough."

Ste's words died on his lips.

"Not like I should have. You came to Dublin - you tried to see me. Now it's time that I fight for you."

"There's nothing left to fight for." Loss wracked through him. It felt suffocating.

"Tell me that you feel like this with that little husband of yours. That he makes you feel like I feel when I'm with you. You make me glad to be alive, Steven."

::::::

By the time Ste got back to the flat, Doug was asleep. Their guests had all gone, but the evidence of the party was still there, food on the tables and empty bottles scattered around the carpet. Ste tiptoed into the spare room, crawling into bed without changing, exhaustion making his movements laboured.

Brendan had given him his phone number before he'd been able to stop him, seemed to think that Ste had erased all traces of it when he'd phoned him after his release. He hadn't. He'd saved it under an alias just in case Doug found it.

Brendan hadn't tried to kiss him. Hadn't tried to hug him or invite him back to wherever he was staying. Ste had waited, but he hadn't said a thing.

He tried to sleep. It felt strange in the empty bed, but he didn't deserve to be beside Doug, not after what he'd done. Not after what he'd wanted to do.

When he reached his hand into his boxer shorts, it was nothing - it was just something to settle him, something to exhaust him even further, to send him into the dreamless sleep that he wanted. Something to shut out the world.

His arousal was barely there at first. He idly played with his cock, felt it stir but his mind was still churning, and his orgasm felt distant. He imagined that the hand wrapped around him was Doug's, remembered when he first slept with him and how long it had been - a year spent being single. The last man he'd slept with had been Brendan, and when he took Doug to bed, he felt ready. He wanted it.

It wasn't enough, what he was doing to himself. He almost cried out in frustration, felt his skin burning with the lack of satisfaction.

Ste stood up, dropping his underwear onto the floor, stepping over it to get to the drawer in the corner of the room.

He didn't even know if it would still be there. They rarely used this room, and he'd never suggested using the toy with Doug, wouldn't want to make him feel uncomfortable or like what they did wasn't enough. It _was_ enough. Except -

Except sometimes he wanted what he used to have. Ached for it so much that it felt like there was a hole in his chest. He wanted it all - wanted the happy ever after.

The person who said those words on that balcony seemed young, and far away.

He carried the dildo in its packaging to the bathroom, feeling conspicuous even though the flat was silent, shrouded in darkness. He washed it, getting a bottle of lube from the cabinet, switching on the light so he could see what he was doing.

When he went back to bed, he teased his rim with it. Closed his eyes and imagined a different life. Hated that this was what he was imagining.

He loved making himself come with Brendan's cock inside him, hands on his own dick, eyes screwed shut as he let the sensations wash over him. Nothing had ever made him feel like that before. This wasn't the same - there was a rubbery feel and a coldness, and he didn't have Brendan all around him, telling him that he was beautiful and he loved him and that he'd never leave him.

He had this, but he didn't have the man.

But he felt full. Felt full instead of empty, and it was the emptiness that he desperately wanted to fight against.

The dildo eased into him, was smaller than Brendan but it made Ste remember, made him go back to that time when he'd had everything he'd ever wanted. When they'd wake up together like spoons, Brendan kissing down his back, cock buried deep inside him.

It made him remember what it felt like to be loved.

He took the dildo out, used his fingers instead and then put it back in, found that it made him harder that way. It didn't feel right that Brendan wasn't next to him, on him, inside him - that Ste couldn't call him and he'd be with him instantly, staring at him and watching Ste making himself come, both of their eyes shining with lust and need and want.

He almost did it, almost called out to Brendan, had to bite down on his lips to stop it.

He wanted to ride the toy. He climbed out of bed, removing his t-shirt, hot all over now. He positioned the dildo onto the carpet, the rubber balls almost touching it, the head covered in the lube and his pre-come.

He angled his hips, spreading his legs and lowering himself down onto it. The burn that had been there initially had gone, and all he could feel was it getting deeper inside him, right where he wanted it. Ste held onto the bed, starting to pick up a rhythm, his hole convulsing around the ridges and the veins of the dildo.

When he came, spilling onto his hand and over the carpet, he washed himself off, hardly breathing when he thought he heard the door open in Doug's bedroom.

He hurriedly got back into bed. He felt like he'd had sex: it felt like Brendan had been inside him. But he was alone now.

When he picked his phone up from the floor, it flashed with Amy and Doug's previous missed calls and messages. Ste deleted them, didn't want to hear their anger and their concern.

He scrolled down to Brendan's name, finger hovering over it. He began typing.

_Thinking of you._

He pressed send before he could change his mind, switching his phone off.

The next day, he had a reply.


	8. Chapter 8

Ste rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It was his day off but he'd told Doug that he'd go into the deli, disguising the space he wanted by saying that he was going to keep an eye on some of the new staff they'd hired, make sure that they were settling in alright. They still hadn't talked about the party, and Ste could barely look at him, wondered if Doug knew what he'd done last night. Who he'd been thinking about. Who he'd texted - something that he couldn't blame alcohol for.

He'd resisted putting his phone on all morning, scared to get a reply, scared that he wouldn't.

He stood behind the counter at work. They hadn't had a customer in over ten minutes, and the teenagers they'd hired were out back, clearing away stock. Ste looked around even so, ears flushed as he waited for his phone to come to life. There was a split second of panic when he thought that he hadn't received anything - that Brendan had decided to ignore him, cut him out. He'd asked him to leave him alone, and perhaps he'd decided to take his advice seriously, to not let Ste fuck with his head like Brendan was fucking with his.

Then his phone buzzed.

_B: I'm thinking about you too. I always am, Steven. _

He felt his heart begin to beat faster in his chest, his hands growing clammy. Brendan still caused the same reaction in him, even after all this time.

He typed out the words, was scared that in his nervousness he was going to make even more spelling mistakes than usual. But Brendan had never made fun of him for it. He'd always understood.

_S: I don't want to though. I don't want any of this. _

He waited for a reply, didn't truly expect one when it was still early, thought that Brendan had already changed his mind, decided that he wasn't worth fighting for.

But his reply came almost instantly.

_B: I know you don't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. _

Brendan had scarcely ever apologised for anything. It meant something. Ste felt like he could hear Brendan's voice in a way that he'd never been able to in the two years they'd been apart. It was back now, the memory of it. He couldn't drown it out.

_S: Why are you back then?_

He couldn't believe that they were already in this territory - no pretense, no small talk. Brendan was being honest with him, something that Ste used to dream about.

_B: You know why. _

He did. He'd always known, ever since he'd got that phone call. Knew that, however much his faith had been destroyed, Brendan had cared about him, once. He wasn't fickle - wasn't going to change his mind, wasn't going to fall in and out of love. He'd seen it with Brendan and Cheryl, how he'd given up everything for her.

But if he started believing again, started to think that there was a chance, that this could be forever -

_S: Doug's a good person_.

Doug was at home, _their_ home. Had no idea that Ste was betraying him. Fuck, they'd decided to renew their vows less than a week ago.

_B: Then why did you text me?_

He didn't know how to answer that. He put his phone to the side, taking an order, wondering how he must look, if anyone could see anything different in him. He _felt_ different: felt different from the Ste who existed months ago, who had given up on that other life. Even his body felt different: it ached, and reminded him of what he had done last night. How he'd imagined another man being in his bed.

It was another hour before he got a message. He went to put his phone off, but couldn't when he saw the name, resisted and focused on the screen, on Brendan's words hidden behind an alias.

_B: I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone now. I can go, Steven. I can leave, if that's what you want. If he's really what makes you happy, then you don't ever have to see me again._

Ste waited. Paced up and down in the deli, ignoring the looks he attracted from the other staff who had never seen him agitated before, out of control.

It was nearly lunch time. He could go and find Doug, apologise, promise to make it up to him.

He picked up his phone.

_Don't go._

::::::

They texted every day. It started out small - Ste asking questions, trying not to say anything that would scare Brendan away. He found out what he needed to know: why Brendan was given an early release. The terms of his parole. How long he was planning on sticking around for.

_B: That depends. _

Ste had frowned, had wondered whether to ignore it, to not press the point. But he couldn't not ask.

_S: Depends on what?_

_B: If I have anything to stay for. _

He'd changed the subject. Wasn't ready to face that yet. Speaking to Brendan every day was confusing him more than anything else. He didn't know what it all meant - didn't know if they were friends, if they ever could be.

Something shifted. It was his fault: he softened, and Brendan sensed it. Started pushing his limits, testing things. Seeing how far he could go.

An innocent message -_ it's freezing today, ain't it _- could be transformed into something else.

_B: What are you wearing? Not in those boxers of yours in winter, are you?_

Ste ignored it at first. Thought of Doug, still completely oblivious, didn't even know that Brendan was in Chester, holed up in a hotel.

But soon he stopped ignoring it. Didn't want to anymore. Added winks to the end of his texts, even added kisses once or twice, only realising his mistake once he'd pressed send.

Ste was lying in bed one night, waiting for Doug to join him from the bathroom. His phone buzzed, and he watched Doug out of the corner of his eye, grabbing it and quickly scrolling through the message.

_B: I wish you were here with me._

Ste smiled, felt like he couldn't stop it from coming through.

_S: Where are you?_

Brendan's reply came less than a minute later, Ste sitting up in bed, light switched on beside him so he didn't miss a word.

_B: In my bed. _

He swallowed, felt lightheaded. Imagined Brendan underneath the covers - unclothed, because he never slept with any pajamas on. He imagined his arms, more muscular than ever, and his chest covered by the thick expanse of dark hair. Imagined the beard, which he'd always wanted to kiss, even when he thought he'd hated him.

_S: Me too. _

He felt ashamed, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He wondered if there was a cut off point - a moment when he'd feel like he was going too far. Wondered what it would take before he reached that point.

It was terrifying, waiting for Brendan's reply. A rejection of him now would leave Ste with nothing: humiliated, alone in this bed that he shared with his husband.

_B: Come and see me. Tonight._

His heart caught in his throat.

_S: I can't._

Not_ I don't want to. _

_B: I need to be with you, Steven. Tonight. Now. _

Ste considered it then. Considered getting out of bed and getting the address of Brendan's hotel, not stopping until he was there. They wouldn't talk - Ste was sure of that. They had plenty to discuss, had two year's worth of conversations, but that could wait. They just needed to be together.

"Who's that?" Doug came out of the bathroom, nodding over to Ste's phone.

Ste regained his composure at the last moment, remembering that Doug didn't know anything - that if he started panicking, started acting shifty, then that would be the undoing of him.

It felt like a plan. A deceit.

"Just a mate."

"Amy?"

He didn't want to get Amy involved in this, didn't want to use her as a cover incase Doug started digging around, asking questions. He wasn't sure if she would cover for him. She knew him too well.

"Nah. Sinead."

She was out of town with some friends, in the middle of nowhere with no phone signal. He'd hid enough of her secrets for her to do the same for him.

Doug kissed him, reaching out to switch off the light.

"Hang on a sec. I'm just gonna go and get some water - you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine." Doug smiled tightly at him: they'd been treading on eggshells around each other since the party. Something had felt ruined since that day, and Ste wasn't sure how to get it back.

He padded to the kitchen, running the tap to keep up the pretense.

_S: What do you want to do to me?_

He waited for the reply, fidgeting and leaning on one foot then the other, sipping water just to calm him down.

He'd gone too far. Exposed himself and everything he wanted.

_B: Kiss you first. I've waited two years to kiss you._

Ste typed hurriedly, felt like he had limited time - that if he thought about what he was doing, all of this would end. He wasn't ready for that. He hadn't felt like this in a long time - this excited, this aware of another person's presence, even if Brendan wasn't touching him, wasn't even in the same room as him.

_S: Then what?_

_B: You sure you want me to tell you this with your husband next to you?_

_S: He's not next to me. I'm in the kitchen._

_B: Where's he? The bedroom?_

Ste stilled, didn't know whether to tell the truth or not. Days ago he'd wanted to hurt Brendan, to cause him pain, to make him feel like he'd been feeling. Now the thought of it hurt him even more.

A single word:_ Yeah. _

He imagined Brendan by himself in his hotel room, knowing that he and Doug were together. He thought how he'd feel if Brendan had moved on. If he'd met someone new, and they were living together, married.

It felt like pain was ripping through him.

_B: Do you still sleep with him?_

_S: That's none of your business. _

_B: You're asking me how I'd fuck you, Steven. I think it's become my business. _

Ste gritted his teeth, annoyance seeping through him. Brendan could piss him off more than anyone else in the world. He wanted to delete all their messages, wanted to erase Brendan's number, stop all contact between them.

_B: Don't pout at me._

Ste laughed, putting his hand over his mouth in case Doug could hear.

_S: You can't even see me you git._

_B: I can tell you're doing it. _

_S: Are you surprised after what you asked me?_

_B: Just tell me. Please._

Ste hesitated - knew that he'd want to know too, if the situation was reversed. That he'd hate hearing it, but his mind wouldn't rest until he found out.

_S: Yes_.

Brendan didn't reply for the rest of the night.

::::::

The news has spread. He'd told Mitzeee, and she'd phoned that idiot sister of hers. As Brendan makes his way to the club, he's stopped, congratulations exchanged. People are wary, nervous as they speak to him, not keeping eye contact for long. He's the man who miraculously got acquitted for murdering half a dozen people. He'll always be that, but he accepts their words, even manages a smile. Gossip about him has never been good before. It's nice to feel proud of something.

He runs up the stairs of the club, finds the door ajar.

"Steven?"

He's got a grin on his face, can feel it making his jaw ache. He can't remember being this happy. He thinks of taking the day off, getting someone to cover both their shifts, going back to bed and then out to a restaurant in town, celebrating in style.

He stops when he closes the door behind him, smile freezing on his face.

"Hey." Ste's propped up against the bar. It's one of the rare occasions that he doesn't have an apron on, and Brendan can see his bare arms, the tight fitting black t-shirt emphasising his skinniness.

He's not alone. Skunk's opposite Ste, standing up straight when he sees Brendan.

"Who's your friend?"

Skunk smiles, realising the game he's playing.

"This is Skunk." It sounds even more absurd coming from his lips. A cartoon name. "Skunk, this is Brendan, my -" He almost says boyfriend, stopping himself at the last moment. "Fiancé."

Brendan can't share his smile. Can't look at Ste at all: focuses only on Skunk, waiting for him to make a move, needs to know what he's doing here - if this is a threat, turning up at his business and talking to Ste, or if if he's here for more than that. To do some damage.

"Skunk was...he was one of my clients."

Brendan stares between them in shock, uncomprehending. "He -"

"Back when I was dealing. We met through there." There's an edge of shame to Ste's words that Brendan wants to take away, wants to make sure that he never feels again.

"It was a funny coincidence bumping into the boy," Skunk says, and Brendan can tell that he's trying hard not to laugh. "There I was, just coming in here to get a drink, and I find my old mate."

"Hardly your mate though, is he?"

"Brendan!" Ste looks at him warningly, always wanting to see the good in people, even where there's nothing there.

"Can I just..." Brendan rubs his temple, laughing in disbelief. He should of known this was coming - should have guessed that the universe couldn't be that kind. "Me and your little friend need to talk."

Ste pushes him back before he can grab Skunk's arm, walking until they're both in the corner of the club, Ste speaking in hushed whispers, Brendan not attempting to keep his voice down. He wants Skunk to hear this - wants it to sink in, for him to understand that he can't invade his life.

"He's clean now, okay?"

"So he says." Brendan doesn't tell him about everything he knows. It feels like it's trying to crawl out of his skin.

"Is that what you think of me too - that I was just some low life drug dealer?"

"No. Christ, no." He makes the boy look at him, thumbs smoothing across Ste's cheeks, over the boy's dark eyelashes. "I'd never."

"Then just - give him a chance, yeah? It's my fault - if he hadn't had me to buy from, maybe things would be different."

"Steven, he's a drug addict. If it wasn't you then it would be someone else. Don't feel any responsibility for that - thing."

Skunk glances over at them, eyes settling on Ste. He knows that's what will get to Brendan the most. Brendan snarls, advancing forward.

Ste lays a restraining hand on him. "Please. For me."

He doesn't tell Ste that this is all for him. That if he lets the boy find out who he really is, what he's really done, then all of this - the marriage, the life together, the things that Ste dreams of - will be gone.

::::::

Ste locked himself in the toilet in the deli, rolling his trousers down to his ankles, letting out a groan of release when he could begin touching himself, hand moving in quick, urgent strokes.

He'd woken from a dream, erection straining against the bed sheets. Doug had sucked him off till he'd come, and Ste had buried the fact that the dream hadn't been about him.

He used his free hand to type a message.

_S: Brendan?_

He sighed with relief when his phone vibrated. The sound had come to mean everything. Barely a day passed without them messaging each other.

_B: What do you need?_

Ste typed, fighting against the heavy breaths that felt trapped inside him. He didn't want to risk anyone hearing him - didn't want to think of Doug being on the other side of the wall.

_S: You._

He was startled by his own honesty, didn't know when he'd become okay with all of this - when he'd given up the fight and let Brendan back in. Trying to prevent it from happening felt exhausting. It felt inevitable, all of this.

_B: You touching yourself?_

He moaned harder at the question, stroking more roughly, gathering speed. He didn't understand how Brendan knew - didn't understand how he knew him better than anyone.

_S: Yeah._

_B: Stroking your dick?_

_S: Yes._

_B: For me?_

_S: Yes. For you._

_B: Not for that little husband of yours?_

He hated Brendan's possessiveness. Hated his jealousy. Didn't understand why it made him harder, made him have to slow his hand down so he wouldn't come too soon.

_S: Shut up._

_B: Make me._

_S: That an invitation?_

Ste waited, hand on his dick but not stroking it now, too tense. He and Brendan had been circling around each other for weeks, but Brendan hadn't suggested that they meet up again, hadn't invited Ste to his hotel since the last time. Ste needed to know what this was - if it was just a bit of fun for Brendan, some teasing and flirting, a way to pass the time. Or if it meant the same as what it did for him: that it was worth it. Worth the risk to his marriage, worth being alienated from his family when Amy found out, when Danny discovered that he was thinking of going back to a convicted murderer instead of staying with a good, decent man who loved him.

_B: Come to mine._

He felt like a spark was going through him, like he was lighting up from the inside. He leaned his head against the cubicle, felt like he wouldn't be able to type the words on his phone, his hands making renewed movements on his dick.

_S: Doug will find out._

_B: We can be careful._

"Fuck." Ste was glad that Brendan couldn't see him. He felt a flush of embarrassment at how he would appear - naked from the waist down, milking his dick in his palm, pupils big and black, using Brendan's words to force his orgasm out of him.

_S: Tell me. _

He didn't take his eyes off the screen - needed to know if Brendan knew him as well as he thought he did. That he'd know what he needed. What he wanted him to say.

_B: My tongue. You like that, don't you?_

He couldn't type a reply. Wasn't capable of it.

_B: Inside you. Going deep. All the way in._

A stream of come hit the cubicle door, and Ste's legs buckled. He couldn't be quiet, not anymore.

_B: Then when I've got you ready, I'm gonna go in with my cock._

Brendan knew what he was doing to him. Knew why Ste wasn't replying.

His orgasm felt prolonged. Felt like he was shaking with it, sliding down onto the floor, staring at the mess he'd made on the wall. His cock felt raw. Used. But he still wanted more - wanted Brendan inside him, giving him everything he was promising.

_B: Steven?_

Ste picked up his phone slowly, not ready to go back outside yet.

_S: I'm here._

_B: Are you okay?_

_S: I just came._

_B: Good boy._

The message made him put his hand back on his cock, brushing his thumb over the sensitive head.

_S: We can't keep doing this._

Typing it felt seedy enough: he was having an _affair_. It didn't matter that he and Brendan hadn't even kissed since he'd returned. This felt more intimate.

_B: Do you want to stop?_

_S: That's not what I said._

It bided him some time: neither rejection or acceptance.

_B: Come and meet me tonight, Steven. _

_S: For what? To talk, or..._

_B: Or. _

Ste cleaned himself up. Felt like that's all he ever did now - clean up the mess that he'd created. When he looked in the mirror, his cheeks were tinged with pink, the white in his eyes looking more prominent. He remembered those first few days after Brendan had been sent down, when he'd looked dead.

He could hear Doug calling him, telling him that he was needed.

Ste typed a message quickly before switching his phone off, biting down on his lip.

_Ok. I'll see you tonight._


	9. Chapter 9

Ste curls up on Brendan's chest, hands on his beard, stroking.

"It wasn't too bad, was it?"

"It could have been better." It feels like the world's greatest understatement.

"He was happy for us though."

"He had to be. Didn't exactly want to fall out with you, did he?"

Ste raises his body to face Brendan, kissing him gently. It feels like Brendan's resisting him, too concentrated on his own thoughts. It makes Ste kiss him harder.

"My dad likes you."

Brendan looks to the ceiling, mouth a hard line.

"He'd rather you were with someone else though."

They'd invited the Lomax's to the flat. Brendan had been nervous all evening: dropping his cutlery to the floor, barely saying a word, leaving Ste to tell his father about the engagement.

The only time Brendan had sustained eye contact with Danny was after the announcement.

"I love your son very much." He'd felt for Ste's hands underneath the table, fingers running over the skin.

Ste's sisters had all but swooned at his words, had all harboured crushes on Brendan since they'd met him. Danny had smiled; there was a hesitancy to it but Ste thought that was earned - Danny had heard him mention Brendan in the years that he'd been gone. Had found the hundreds of letters that Ste had stashed away in a box - ones which, when Brendan made it clear that he wasn't going to reply, Ste wrote just for himself. Just to remember that they had been something once. That it wasn't all a figment of his imagination.

"Well it doesn't matter, does it? Because I'm never gonna be with anyone else. This is it now."

"I don't want to come between you two." It's still an adjustment, having to contend with Danny being in Ste's life. But he's seen them together - knows how, when he was gone, Danny was one of the only things that kept him going.

"Bren." Another kiss, one which Brendan doesn't reject. His hand goes to Ste's waist, gently pulling him in closer. Ste leans back to look at him, a light redness above his upper lip from Brendan's stubble. "I'll always choose you, every time. Over anyone in this world."

::::::

Sinead was his cover.

"I'm just going to visit her and Katy - we're meeting at a place in town." He'd kissed Doug, wondered if his husband could taste his lies on his lips.

Doug had stood up, following Ste around the room.

"I can come with you."

"No, don't worry. Your parents are calling tonight, aren't they?"

"I can speak to them anytime." Doug was already reaching for his coat, and Ste felt the panic rising in him.

"Really, forget about it. I probably won't be long anyway. I'll send her your love, yeah?"

He left the house before Doug could follow him, walking quickly and getting his phone out.

_S: I'm on my way._

_B: Good._

Ste couldn't stop looking at his messages on the bus ride into Chester. He felt like his skin was humming as he read Brendan's words on the screen. They felt like evidence that he wanted him. That even after all this time, Brendan had kept his promise - had never felt any differently about him.

The security was lax when Ste entered the hotel. He could go into the toilets without being questioned, and he took the opportunity to adjust his clothes in the mirror, smooth down his hair. He'd deliberated over what to put on, hadn't felt right in anything. He'd settled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt that he remembered Brendan commenting on, slapping Ste's arse and telling him that he looked hot as fuck. The memory warmed him.

He needed a moment, couldn't go out there right away. Brendan had told him to text him when he'd arrived, but Ste stayed in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, leaning against the sink and trying to control his breathing. The place was deserted: it was a low budget hotel, one where the paint was peeling at the edges and the lights were flickering, in need of repair.

He hated the thought of Brendan being somewhere like this, sleeping here at night. Ste's flat wasn't much better, but it had felt like a home when they'd lived there. Brendan had never suggested moving out, even though Ste knew he can't have liked how cramped and run down it was. Every memory of it had once belonged to him and Amy and the kids. Soon it had begun to resemble everything that he and Brendan had shared: the first time they'd slept together. The first Christmas that they'd spent as a family.

_S: I'm here. _

He tried to summon up the courage he needed. Had to summon up the stupidity and recklessness too, because this _was_ stupid, and it _was_ reckless. He'd planned for this, had felt almost methodical: he'd brought condoms and new underwear, wondering when he'd become this, when cheating on Doug became so easy. There had always been something that had stopped him in the past, but now - now there was nothing. It terrified him. Brendan had the ability to destroy his entire life.

Ste went out into the main foyer. Part of him thought that Brendan would take one look at him and walk away. He knew he must look a mess - noticeably shaking, a flush to his cheeks. He'd never seen Brendan look more beautiful. He could have someone better than Ste. Someone younger, someone who didn't have a husband waiting at home.

Ste heard the door open. He looked up, felt nausea curling in his gut, didn't know if he was brave enough to do this.

Brendan had stopped, was standing across the room, watching him. His eyes travelled down his body, and Ste hadn't felt so exposed in a long time. Didn't feel like this even when he was naked in bed with Doug. He crossed his arms over his body, feeling defensive under Brendan's scrutiny. If his legs were capable of moving in that moment, he would have run away. Wouldn't have stopped running.

Brendan walked towards him first. It didn't seem to matter that the staff were standing at the desk behind them; they weren't aware of it.

"You coming up?" His voice was soft. He sounded like he didn't believe any of this was real, eyes wide and shining in amazement.

"Yeah." Ste was embarrassed by the croak in his voice. He cleared his throat, his legs feeling like they were about to give way as he followed Brendan up the stairs, could see the outline of Brendan's arse through his tight fitting jeans. Ste looked away, tried to not concentrate on it, but it was futile, useless to fight against it. Brendan was the whole reason he was here.

They said nothing until they reached Brendan's room. Brendan dropped his hotel key as he fumbled with the lock, and they both reached for it on the carpet at the same time, hands making contact and making them flinch. It didn't matter what they'd written in their messages: this was entirely different, touching each other after so long.

Ste hadn't realised how there had been a gnawing hunger in him for two years. He felt it now, understood for the first time how empty he'd been, how he'd tried to ignore it with Doug and his kids and his father, but it had always remained.

Until now. Now, he felt like he was being fixed again. Like Brendan was fixing him.

There was a moment when they were plunged into darkness before Brendan turned on the light, and Ste wanted to feel for him in the blackness, wanted to memorise the lines of Brendan's face and the curve of his mouth.

Then the light was on again, and Ste closed the door behind him, the click of it feeling ominous, because there was no way back now. He'd never be able to return to his previous life.

The confidence that Brendan had shown the last time they'd met seemed to have evaporated. He looked at Ste, was almost imploring, like he was asking for him to make the first move. Like words failed him, and so did taking what he wanted.

"Say it then." Ste had to hear it. Had to know.

"I love you. I always have."

Ste didn't wait anymore. He fell against Brendan's body so hard that it sent them both backwards, Brendan's legs hitting the bed and causing him to topple over onto it, a gasp of surprise escaping from his lips. Ste didn't stop kissing him as he climbed Brendan's lap, arms wrapping around his neck, their groins pressed together.

He could feel the warmth through Brendan's shirt. Could feel his heartbeat if he was close enough, and he was close - got as close as he could, hands moving to Brendan's beard, and _fuck_, he'd dreamed of this, exactly this. Dreamed of licking into Brendan's mouth, of making him moan, of making him hard. He felt powerful like this, using everything he had to make Brendan his.

The taste of him was just the same. It was so uniquely Brendan - the feel of his lips against Ste's, the way he claimed his mouth like no one else ever had. There was a softness to Doug's mouth, and he kissed him like he loved him, but Brendan kissed him like he needed him. Like this was what was keeping him alive, and Ste felt it too - felt that he couldn't leave this man now, could never be separated from him again. It would be more painful than the first time, because now he knew what it was like to lose Brendan. He knew there was no way back from it, that he could paper over the cracks but they would always be there, ready to make him fall.

He could hear Brendan saying his name when Ste broke off for air, his lungs feeling like they were going to burst. Brendan was breathing it into his skin, _Steven_, and Ste had missed the sound of his name on Brendan's lips - asked him to say it again, and Brendan did - whispered it and sucked a bruise into Ste's neck.

Every time Brendan pulled him closer, Ste's dick rubbed against the material of his tracksuit bottoms. His hand went to it, needed to feel it, and Brendan smacked it away, replaced Ste's hand with his own.

"I missed you." Ste laughed at his own words, could never explain what the years apart had done to him. Soon he couldn't talk: Brendan had hiked down his trousers and the cotton of Ste's boxers, and his hand had delved inside, was around his dick instantly. Ste moved closer, needed more contact, kissed against Brendan's beard and felt the satisfying roughness of it. He was rising and falling in Brendan's lap, fucking into Brendan's hand like it was his cock, imagining what it would feel like if it was: imagining Brendan inside him after all this time.

When he begged Brendan to fuck him, he was thrown onto the bed, the rest of his clothes discarded. The lack of care to Brendan's actions made heat spread through Ste's body. He'd always enjoyed rough play, but there was care in Brendan's eyes, in the way he kissed him, and the juxtaposition made pre-come leak from his cock, made him put his finger deep inside his hole, crying out for Brendan to get a condom from his jacket.

Brendan removed his clothes. It was the first time Ste had seen him naked in two years, and he'd changed. Grown more solid, more defined. Ste had never been so in love with him.

Brendan tilted his head to his side, stroked his cock while he watched Ste's own curl against his stomach, the boy adding a second finger and fucking back on it.

"Get a condom," Ste repeated, felt frustrated that Brendan wasn't making any movement towards him. His heart didn't feel empty, but his body did. He'd forgotten how thick Brendan was, how large. He was intimidated, but it didn't stop him from shuffling forwards on the bed. When Brendan still watched him, making no attempt to fuck him, Ste opened his mouth wide, and secured his lips around Brendan's cock.

"Jesus."

Ste swallowed him down to the root. He felt the pressure building in his mouth, felt the back of his throat getting rammed by Brendan's cock as he held Ste's face in his hands, moving his arse back and forth, setting the pace. Ste stroked his own cock as he sucked and licked and massaged Brendan's balls with his free hand, heard Brendan curse and grunt from above him.

He released Brendan's dick with a wet pop, stroking along its length.

"Please. I need you to fuck me."

Brendan kissed him, licking into Ste's mouth and tasting himself.

"Get yourself ready for me." His voice was low. Promising.

"I am." Ste sighed in frustration, Brendan laughing at him. He felt vaguely ashamed, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He wanted this. Couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted something more.

Brendan nodded over to the bottom of the bed, and Ste spread himself out, opening himself up more with his fingers while Brendan watched, rolling on the condom. Ste hated that he had to use one, wanted Brendan to go into him with nothing. But when they got back together, things could go back to the way they used to be. _When_.

Ste got to his knees, disarming Brendan when he took the condom off, feeding Brendan's dick back into his mouth.

"What are you -"

Ste freed his mouth, licking around Brendan's shaft.

"I just want to taste you again." He'd forgotten how much he liked giving head, the feel of his tongue running against the smooth foreskin. He needed to be fucked, but he needed this too - needed to remember how well they knew each other, how he held power here.

He sucked Brendan until his orgasm was close, then re-sheathed him. Lay against the pillow, panting lightly, lips glistening with sweat and spit.

Brendan climbed on top of him, Ste's hands on his back. Ste's touch made it difficult for Brendan to line his dick up. It was a distraction: Ste's teeth were grazing his neck, and Brendan kept on fumbling, edging his dick closer to Ste's rim and away again as the boy made imprints with his fingers.

Then Ste felt him begin to enter him. Felt the stretch, and had to remove his lips from Brendan's jaw. It hurt, and he cried out, felt like he couldn't take it.

Then it stopped hurting, and it became something else. It felt like the first time he'd slept with Brendan, when he'd been scared and unsure, and his body had felt like he was being torn apart. Then his head had cleared, and his muscles had loosened, and it was like he was drawing Brendan in: accepting him.

Just as Ste felt like that again, Brendan was gone. The fullness had been replaced by an emptiness, and Brendan's body was no longer against his. Ste made a noise, sounded like grief, and sat up, hands on Brendan's shoulders, trying to coax him back to him.

"Why did you stop? Brendan?" He tried to drag Brendan backwards. Tried to make him fuck him.

"I can't..." He shook his head, looked like he was trying to clear it.

"No. Come on, you _can_." He went to kiss Brendan, wanted to kill the doubts, stop the feeling that he'd already left the room. Already left him.

Brendan stood up, tucking his cock back into his boxers, slipping on his jeans.

"I can't fuck you when you're with Douglas."

"Fuck you."

Brendan's mouth opened. "Steven -"

"No. I came here - I risked everything, all so I could be with you. And now you're just gonna kick me out?"

"I'm not kicking you out." He put on his shirt, and Ste felt further away from this than ever - felt like it was over. "I can't go to bed with you and know that you're going to go back to your husband. I thought I could, but..."

Ste stood inches away from his face, felt like he was snarling like an animal. "Funny, cos you never felt guilty when it was Rae and Noah. You didn't feel guilty when you were kissing me or when I was sucking you off. Or is that it - you get what you want from me, use me, and then you're done?"

Brendan tried to reach out to him, but Ste stepped away. Turned his face away in refusal.

"You weren't married to Rae or Noah. We hadn't - we hadn't lived together then, Steven. You weren't my boyfriend - I hadn't...Jesus, I hadn't told you that you were my whole fucking life then. And of course this isn't about me _using_ you. I want this more than anything. That's the point."

Ste grabbed his clothes from the floor, didn't want Brendan to see him like this. He felt like he was bruising his skin in his haste to get them on.

"You didn't want me when you were in prison though, did you? Not enough. And how many guys did you shag in there, eh? You probably had everyone."

"I've only ever loved you," Brendan said solemnly.

"That's not what I asked."

"That's all that's important."

Ste snorted, used it to hide his hurt. He'd written and tried to visit while Brendan was fucking some new model.

"You know what, I'm so glad I didn't sleep with you. It would have been the biggest mistake of my life."

Brendan stared him down, let Ste give him everything, all the anger that made his face contort, his words vicious.

"Doug's the best thing that's ever happened to me. He's the one whose been there for me for the past two years - not you. He's the one who supported me, who looked after the kids. What did you ever do for me, Brendan? Besides beat me up."

"Steven." He sounded defeated. Wasn't the man who said he'd fight for him.

"Just - just leave town. Go to Ireland, or go and see your sister - I don't even care. Just leave. I never want to see you again."


	10. Chapter 10

It was raining when Ste left the hotel. He hadn't brought an umbrella, but he didn't wait for the weather to clear, didn't want to risk Brendan following him outside. He put his hood up and entered the downpour, letting the rainwater mix with his tears so that when people in the street looked at him, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

He couldn't forget Brendan's face, the way he'd looked at him. The mask had slipped and for a second he'd seen everything that Brendan was feeling. It looked like devastation. Looked like he was losing everything, that Ste's words had broken him.

_Good_. Ste kicked an empty can that was on the pavement, needed to get rid of some of the angry energy that was running through him. He wanted Brendan to suffer. Wanted him to know that Ste had suffered worse, that he was the one who was left behind. That he'd put everything on the line, again, only for Brendan to reject him, play games with him.

He wasn't even entirely sure that Brendan would be with him if he left Doug. He might have the best intentions, but how long would he stick around for this time? A week, a month - maybe a few years if Ste was lucky? Before he grew tired of him, or got involved in something dodgy again, or someone new came to rip their lives apart. And Ste would have to start over, would be a miracle if he even knew how.

He fumbled for some change to pay for his bus fare, sitting at the back, as far away as he could to anyone else. His body ached: his back from where Brendan had shoved him backwards onto the bed, and his hips from where Brendan had grasped them as Ste had straddled his lap. It had felt satisfying before, a testament of what Brendan had done to him, but now it was a reminder of everything he'd done wrong that night. How he'd let another man touch him, and now he was making his way back to his home, back to the man that he should of been with.

Doug rushed to the door when he got back. Ste avoided his eyes, hadn't even realised how wet he'd got until Doug took him into the living room, sitting him on the sofa and putting the heating on, bringing him some new clothes to change into.

"You should have called me. I could have picked you up."

"Don't worry," Ste mumbled, and he looked up when Doug made no movement to leave the room.

"What, you're not going to change in front of me?" There was amusement in his voice, but his eyes didn't match up.

Ste couldn't get undressed, didn't want Doug to see the marks on his body. There was evidence of Brendan everywhere.

"Could you do me a favour?" More manipulation.

"Sure." Doug's desperation to make him happy was even worse. He was trying so hard, so hard that it made it painful.

"Can you put on the kettle? I could really do with a cup of tea."

He used the distraction to go to the bedroom, quickly getting changed into fresh clothes, throwing his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt into the wash. He could smell Brendan on them.

They sat in front of the television, clutching steaming hot mugs of tea to warm them. When Ste heard his phone vibrating, he left it.

"Don't you want to get that?" Doug said.

"No." Ste put a hand on his knee, squeezing. "I'd rather be with you."

::::::

The only trace of Ste that was left was the fading imprint in the bed, the dent in the mattress from where he'd spread himself out.

Brendan touched the spot; ran his hand over it and remembered the way the boy had looked at him, like these two years had meant nothing - like nothing had ever changed.

He'd ruined it. Made Ste hate him.

He tried his phone, kept trying until he'd called five times and it went straight to voicemail. It wouldn't take Ste long to get back to the village. He could already be at home with Doug. He wondered if Ste would fuck him, would do it to get back at him. Wondered whether Doug would smell him on his skin, would see the marks that Brendan created. Perhaps he wouldn't care: perhaps having Ste in any capacity was better than not having him at all.

Brendan started to pack up his things. It was pathetic how few belongings he had - a single suitcase to his name. He had a few photographs of his kids, and one of Ste, frayed around the edges from two years of smoothing his thumb over it. He'd come close to tearing it up, because looking at it everyday was akin to torture. But something had always stopped him. It had been all he'd had left.

When he collected everything, he tried Ste again. Left a message, wanted to say something clever, something meaningful, something that would make an impact. Something that wold make him understand that he wasn't using him. That this, all of this, had been real.

"I love you." He choked around the words. It used to be impossible to say it, but now it was impossible not to. He wanted to say more - wanted to tell him that he was going to leave, going to do what Ste wanted, but it felt too much like an ultimatum, a way of pressurising him into choosing. He'd leave quietly: go back to Dublin, see his kids. Let Ste live the life that he deserved.

::::::

He couldn't sleep that night. He thought about going into the spare room instead, but it would only make Doug think that he'd done something wrong, put more distance between them. He'd yawned loudly when they'd climbed into bed, pretending that he was too tired for sex. Doug had cuddled up to him, and Ste had held him, had kissed against his skin and tried to repair the damage he'd done. It felt hollow. Cruel.

He looked at the time on his phone and saw a message flashing there, a voicemail.

It was from him.

The humiliation still felt raw. He'd been ready to give Brendan everything - his entire life in his hands. He could still feel the memories, could taste how Brendan had tasted two years ago, could remember how bitter the wind had been against his skin in Dublin before Brendan had made him warm again.

He uncurled Doug from around him, wondered how he could manage to hold on so tightly even in sleep, like he thought he'd already lost him.

He locked himself in the bathroom, sitting in the darkness. He couldn't risk Doug finding him, didn't know what to tell him if he did.

He had done this when Rae died. Had listened to the message on her answer machine in a loop, had listened to it so much that soon it didn't sound like a person's voice anymore. He'd been as alone back then as he was now, and he drew his knees inwards, hugging them to his body as he closed his eyes shut in the pitch blackness, Brendan's voice ringing in his ears. He sounded like _his_ Brendan: stripped back, none of the bullshit. None of the games. The side that only Ste got to see.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

::::::

"I've got to leave."

Doug had stopped in the middle of the kitchen. He looked like he had frozen in place, an unmoving statue.

"Where are you going? The shops? Leave it till tomorrow. Stay."

There was something behind his voice. Something that hurt to hear.

"No." Ste stood up straight, didn't want to be leaning against the counter for this. He almost told Doug to sit down, but that's what you say when someone's died, wasn't it?

"I've got to leave, Doug. I'm leaving you."

Doug laughed shakily - disbelief, Ste guessed.

"What are you talking about?" Doug still had his pajamas on, and Ste wondered if he could hit pause to this, at least do him the decency of saying this when he was dressed.

But he couldn't, could he? This kind of thing couldn't wait.

"This. I'm...I'm going."

Doug drew his arms around him, looked like he was shivering. Ste had been like that when he'd been waiting outside Chez Chez two years ago, not knowing whether Brendan was alive or dead inside. _Him in there, that's my life._ There had been that lingering coldness that he'd felt in his bones.

Ste stepped forward, extending his hands. When Doug recoiled, so did he. Felt like he was recoiling against everything he was damaging.

But he wasn't taking it back.

"It's because of him, isn't it? He's back?"

Ste nodded, eyes to the floor.

"Have you been in touch with him all this time?"

"Yes."

"Have you slept with him?"

"No. I nearly did."

He didn't want to give the details, felt like he'd said too much already, but he'd want to know if the situation was reversed. The fantasies he'd create in place of the truth would be worse.

Doug was quieter than Ste had imagined. He waited for the screaming to start, waited for Doug to start throwing things at him, like something out of a kitchen sink drama. He wanted that - had always wanted it with Amy too. Any lingering resentment that she felt after their arguments had scared him more than the idea of her rage.

"Does he want you back?" There was a mocking edge there. A_ why would he?_

"I don't know." Suddenly it didn't feel important - wasn't about whether Brendan wanted him back. He could have left already, could have gone to Ireland. Ste could never hear from him again, and he'd still be saying this. He couldn't go back to his life before - couldn't be with Doug, couldn't sleep in the same bed with him, couldn't plan for their future now that he'd seen Brendan.

Whether Brendan wanted him or not, Ste would always want him.

"That's Brendan, isn't it? He comes back, says a few nice words, makes a few promises. Then you don't hear from him for _two years_."

"He had his reasons." He never thought he'd be defending him. Never thought that all those letters and attempts to visit would come to this - _he had his reasons. _

"Like what?"

_Like he doesn't believe he deserves to be loved. Like he doesn't believe that anyone could ever want him. He was trying to protect me, in his own fucked up, Brendan Brady way. His dad took out the heart of him, destroyed everything, made him believe he wasn't normal -_

Ste moved into the living room, picking up the suitcase that he'd packed. Doug's lips parted when he saw it. He'd been gone a few hours, and Ste had used that time. Hadn't slept in days, had been running on empty, but had found strength from somewhere. Had gone from room to room, grabbing the necessities until he felt ready.

"I'm gonna stay at Tony's. Give you some time to get your things together."

"That's really good of you."

"Doug -"

"No, really. You're ending our marriage, you're choosing a murderer over me - again - but hey, at least you're letting me pack my belongings together before you kick me out."

Ste took it. Stood and took it. Knew that he deserved it. This is what he wanted: needed to be beat down, needed to feel the consequences. Needed to know that it was worth it.

It still was. And it still would be, again and again.

"Does Amy know?"

Doug read the answer on his face.

"Of course not. She'd never let you see the kids again, would she?"

"Probably not." Ste locked his lips together, had to because they were trembling.

"You're choosing him over them?"

Ste said nothing. This was the choice he'd made: this marriage, this man. Nothing else.

"So all that stuff about the doors - if I was behind one, and so was he."

"Doug." His voice was soft. Pleading. "You're the person I want to want. I wish more than anything that I could feel -"

"You know what? You stay here." Doug grabbed his jacket, didn't seem to care that his pajama bottoms showed through. He ignored Ste's protests, hurriedly pulling on his shoes.

When he left, Ste somehow felt less alone than before. Like the dust was beginning to clear.

::::::

Mitzeee visits from America, bringing the world's entire contents of alcohol with her.

"Jesus, Anne. You know the boy can't hold his booze." They both look at Ste, dancing on the sofa, seems to have adopted an Irish singing voice in his drunken state. He keeps beckoning for Brendan to join him, and there's something alluring - there shouldn't be, but there is - about his attempts at fuck me eyes and a single finger outstretched, trying to pull Brendan towards him.

"He's having fun, isn't he?

Brendan grunts, can't deny that.

"Anyway, if I'd left it up to you you wouldn't have even celebrated your engagement." She clutches onto his arm, has had one too many herself, the rosy flush to her cheeks and unfocused eyes giving her away.

"That's not true." He doesn't tell her about his plans to tell Ste out one evening, and watch the boy's eyes light up as he takes in the surroundings of an expensive restaurant, the likes of which he's never stepped into before. They'll end the night back at a hotel - not the kind where they first fucked in when Brendan returned. Somewhere better. Somewhere worthy of him.

"Brendan, it's Katy Perry!" Ste's slurring, shaking his hips to the music. It's not _that_ song, but it's enough to spark memories.

Brendan smiles, and Mitzeee sees. The next minute she's cooing over him like he's a baby. Fuck.

"You two are so sweet."

"No." He shakes his head emphatically. "No."

"I'm coming to the wedding, right?" She's got her pout on.

"It's gonna be small -"

She holds a hand up, silencing his protests. Ste ignores them both, top riding up as he dances. It's distracting. Brendan's mouth is around the rim of his glass, not swallowing, just looking. Watching the boy as an inch of his tattoo's revealed.

He loves Mitzeee, but he wants her gone.

"I'm coming." She says it firmly, eyeing him warily, waiting for him to argue.

"Okay." It might not be so bad, having her there with them. She's come to mean something, not just to him but to the both of them - stopped them falling apart. Jesus, he'd considered fucking Kevin before she'd intervened. _Kevin_.

"Aw, he'd look precious in a dress." Her eyes are on Ste. Brendan nearly spits his drink out.

"He's not my wife."

Ste seems to have heard. He grabs the bottle of champagne before Brendan can stop him, swigging it back, frown on his face.

"I ain't his wife."

Mitzeee smirks.

::::::

Brendan tries to remove Ste's clothes, put him to bed. Problem is, he's not exactly coordinated himself.

He giggles. Ste will tease him for it in the morning, _you giggled, Bren. I heard you_, but for now he lets it pass, back falling against the mattress of the bed.

His hand goes straight to his cock. Dirty bastard.

"It was a good night, weren't it?" He's smiling as he fists his dick, looks angelic from the waist up.

"Yeah." Brendan licks into his mouth, feels it open for him. It feels like they're fucking, this thing they do with their tongues. He wonders if Ste will try it at their wedding. Wonders if they'll get thrown out for it.

"What do you want, Steven?" There's frustration there: the boy can't make up his mind. When he's made himself hard, his hands travel over Brendan's shirt. When he gets that open, they close over his nipples, toying with them, making Brendan's eyes dark. Then his hands are on Brendan's groin, his arse, gripping him through the material of his jeans.

"Get your pants off."

Brendan doesn't know whether to do this when the boy's barely conscious. He doesn't want Ste to fall asleep on him mid-fuck. Doesn't exactly do wonders for a man's ego.

But he's fumbling with the button on Brendan's pants, and Brendan can see his tongue. He removes Ste's hands. It's quicker that way, and now he's naked, and Ste's fingers are against his pubic hair, tugging lightly. Tugging in the way that Brendan likes to be hurt.

When he's between Brendan's thighs, he begins to bite. Bites into the skin, his body golden in the light from the room. Brendan doesn't know what he's going to do - doesn't know whether he's going to suck him off, or whether he's going to go in with his fingers.

He does neither. Brendan feels his tongue instead.

He must be hot, and tight. He wonders if this feels as good for Ste as it does for him, when it's his tongue in Ste's hole, the feel of pushing past muscle, unresisting at first before it turns loose under his attention. They never talked about this the first time they did it. Never discussed whether this was okay. He'd woken one night, long before he'd ever told the boy he loved him, and found the sheets tangled near the bottom of the bed, Ste's hair ruffled, his eyes hidden, only the crown of his head visible. He'd been opening Brendan up - must have not had a clue, but was mimicking what Brendan had done to him.

He'd let him. It had felt good, and right, and it had stopped the storm in his head.

Brendan wraps his legs around Ste's neck, loves the intimacy of it. Loves how less than an hour ago, Ste was tasting cheap larger on his tongue, and now he's tasting him. Loves that no matter who he's been with, nothing has been like this. It can't have been, Brendan _feels_ it. Knows that for both of them, this is all there is.

They're too drunk for sex, too sleepy. There's time tomorrow. Ste seems to realise it, not making an attempt to move things forward. Not making an attempt to move at all. His jaw must ache, and his tongue must be numb, but he doesn't stop until Brendan tells him to, stroking his dick until he's ready, telling Ste to close his lips around him and swallow his come until he's empty.

The boy makes a satisfied noise, could be a sigh. He crawls up Brendan's body, and he's hard, but when Brendan tries to wrap his hand around his erection, he brushes him off.

"Tomorrow." His eyes are heavy, and he's asleep within seconds.

Brendan isn't tired, not anymore. It's easier like this, to think that he could say all the things he wants to say when Ste's asleep. He strokes his hair, holding him and kissing against his cheek.

The lies have him in a noose. They unravel in the dark, spilling from his lips.


	11. Chapter 11

Brendan's lying flat on his stomach when Ste wakes, mouth open, a slick of saliva around his lips. Ste felt him stirring from beside him the whole night. It made him anxious, made him drift in and out of dreams, never fully settling: he couldn't, not when he knew that something was stopping Brendan from getting peace.

The tattoo on Brendan's arm looks even more pronounced, the muscles there more defined than they've ever been. Ste closes his eyes against the headache that's only got worse as the morning develops - he vaguely remembers something about dancing to a Katy Perry song and imagining himself in a wedding dress - and he shuffles closer, rubbing his nose against the ink of the cross. When Brendan doesn't stir, Ste kisses along the length of it, tracing the tattoo with his lips.

Ste's hungover, but he's hard. He takes hold of Brendan's wrist, bringing it down below the sheets, moving it so his hand's wrapped around his dick. He waits. Feels nothing at first - not a movement, or a sign that Brendan's anything other than asleep. Then the lightest pressure, so slight that he thinks it's his own hand, his own actions. But then he feels the unmistakable roughness of Brendan's palm, and the assuredness of his touch.

He rolls over - doesn't look disgruntled to be woken, but it takes him a second, blinking through hazy eyes, clearing the tiredness away. He'd drunk a fair bit himself last night. Ste distinctly remembers hearing him giggle, something that he'll have to make sure that he brings up later on, teases him about. It's too good an opportunity to miss.

"Morning." His hand glides across the length of Ste's cock, seems like there's no dexterity there, no intent, no purpose. But Ste knows him: he's doing this to warm him up.

"Morning."

He forgets about what he must taste of, the unpalatable mixture of stale booze and morning breath. Brendan sucks on his bottom lip, his own soft, surrounded by his facial hair. Ste runs his hand along it, staring at Brendan curiously when he lets out a laugh.

"What?" He feels self conscious, vulnerable after last night. Can feel tiredness still leeching from his bones, making his eyes heavy.

"You love this thing, don't you?" He looks down as Ste traces his beard, seems caught up in watching the way his hands move.

"It's you, isn't it? It's who you are now."

"I'd still be me without it." His voice is gentle, his guard down.

"I know." There's a roll to the boy's eyes, as though it's obvious. As though he's thought about this all before. "But it's what you had in prison. It's - different, isn't it?"

"What do you mean, different? Why is that important?" He presses. There's still all these things that they've never talked about, things which have gone unsaid in the time since his return, a constant reminder that he was separated from Ste for longer than he was with him.

"Because things are gonna be different this time."

He looks young. Looks younger than Brendan's ever seen him when he's like this. Staring at Brendan for reassurance, like he'll only believe it when he tells him.

"Yeah. Of course."

"No more lies."

Brendan shifts in the bed, clears his throat. He's not as comfortable with this - deception - as he used to be. Guilt used to be something fleeting, something he could keep from getting to the surface. Now it's everywhere.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I know you better than anyone."

Brendan does things with his hands when he's nervous. Scratches his face, runs his fingers through his hair, fiddles with the bedcovers. Ste follows every action with his eyes, all these little ticks and twitches.

"And I heard what you said last night, when you thought I was sleeping. I heard you, Brendan."

::::::

Diane wasn't happy with him camping out on her sofa. She didn't say anything, and she brought him tea and toast in the mornings even when he told her not to, but Ste could see it. Knew that he'd already outstayed his welcome after one night.

"You don't have to go." Tony stood by the front door where Ste had dragged his rucksack to. He was in front of it, blocking it, trying to convince him to stay, and Ste loved him for that - wanted to put his arms around him, squeeze him and feel how real he was. It still didn't feel real, this, all of this: Tony being alive, his hair having grown back. Two years since he'd been given the all clear, and it still felt fragile.

"It's okay. Really." He offered him a smile, lifting his bag onto his shoulder. "I really should have stayed with my dad. The last thing you need is me around here, taking up space."

"Don't be stupid." Tony looked around, glancing over his shoulder, lowering his voice. "You know I'd love to have you longer, but Diane - well, there's not a whole lot of room with the twins, and -"

"And she doesn't want my dirty scally trainers on her table." He wasn't exaggerating: it was a direct quote. He was almost grateful to her. Her annoyance had provided him with a distraction, something to think about when he was trying not to think of Brendan.

Tony didn't insult him by denying it. "You still haven't told me what happened."

"Yeah I did." He said it in a rush, didn't want to linger over it. "I told you, me and Doug have separated."

"But why?"

"Things happen. It's unrealistic that people are expected to stay together their whole lives, isn't it? I mean look at you - Mandy, and Jacqui, and Diane -"

"Yeah, alright," Tony cut in sharply. "So I suppose if it had been Brendan that you'd married..."

Ste snorted. "Brendan?" He sounded like the idea had never occurred to him. "Tony, this is Brendan Brady you're talking about, right? Can you seriously imagine him taking someone down the aisle?"

"I'm not talking about someone. I'm talking about you."

"Maybe once, but..." Then he remembered that no one was meant to know that he had even seen Brendan. He'd wanted to keep a low profile, avoid any journalists from tracking him down and adding to the media storm that was already surrounding him.

Ste's mouth opened in panic, realising he'd already said too much. Tony raised his hand, reading his mind.

"You don't have to worry. I'm not going to spread it around the village. But I'm worried about you."

He hadn't planned on talking about this, knew that no one was likely to understand. In all the years he'd known Tony, he'd taken as few risks as possible. He was dependable, someone you went to for help, someone who directed you down the right path, who stopped you from fucking up. He'd never love anyone as volatile as Brendan. Except -

Except he had, once.

"Tony?" He put his bag back down, knew that he had to ask before he left.

"What?"

"When Mandy was...you know...hitting you..."

Ste could see the shock that crossed Tony's face before he concealed it. They'd never talked about this.

When Tony didn't tell him to stop, he went on.

"You still loved her, didn't you? I mean, years later, you two got back together."

"Ste, he hasn't hit you again, has he? Because if he has -"

"No," Ste interrupted, didn't want to hear the accusal in Tony's voice. Didn't want to think that that was the conclusion that everyone would jump to. "He hasn't touched me. Not like that." He trailed off uncomfortably, Tony's eyebrows raising. He knew now, as everyone would - knew that he was a cheater and a liar.

"What made you forgive her?"

He could see that Tony didn't want to talk about it. Thought that he would turn him away, would tell him to get out.

When he spoke, he was quiet. Ste had to strain to hear him.

"She was raped, Ste. By her dad."

Ste froze. Couldn't move, was scared that Tony could see something in him - could see what he wanted to go to his grave protecting.

"You think that's why she did it?"

"I think that she really hated herself. And him. And me, for loving her."

Ste nodded, mouth dry. "It's weird, isn't it? How some people try and break the things they love."

When Tony looked at him, Ste looked away. Felt too exposed like this. Felt like he was carrying everything that Brendan had gone through, couldn't believe that other people couldn't see it in his eyes.

"Ste?"

He was going to ask: Ste felt it. Felt him joining the dots. Connecting things.

"Thank you, for letting me stay." He moved closer to the door, forcing Tony to take a step back.

"Sure." He wanted to say more, but Ste wouldn't let him. "I hope it all works out, you know. You and Brendan."

Ste smiled. It felt more like he was crying.

"It's funny. You probably don't remember, but a couple of years ago, when Doug was thinking about selling the deli, and I was gonna move to America - I came to you, asked you something."

Tony looked blanked. Ste hadn't expected the moment to be as significant to him, hadn't expected it to change his whole life like it had changed Ste's.

"You gave me some advice. I don't remember exactly what it was - something like follow your heart, be with the person you love."

"Sounds like something from a self help guide."

"Yeah," Ste said, laughing and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I chose Brendan that day. I would have chosen him every day, in every life, but - he wasn't always ready."

Ste took a deep breath, needed it to steady him. "I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know if this is the right choice. But I will choose him until the day I die."

::::::

Brendan's methodical in packing his things. He goes from room to room, Ste's voice and movements a blur in the background. He'd locked himself in the bathroom earlier, changing into a suit. It gave him some semblance of control back, however superficial it feels.

When he opens a drawer he snaps it shut again quickly, had forgot that that's where they store the letters. Thousands of them, one for every day, all written in Ste's scrawl, illegible at times, the ink blotted in places from where his tears had soaked through the paper.

They're a reminder of the second chance that this is.

Someone's shouting. Grabbing at his arm, twisting it, trying to drag him backwards, make Brendan look.

"Steven. Let me go."

"Please don't leave me."

Jesus. Brendan turns to face him. The colour's drained from the boy: he's all red sunken eyes and sore throat, scratchy from his pleading.

"You can't be around me anymore."

"I want you to stay."

Brendan throws his bag down on the floor. It makes Ste jump, but he recovers: Brendan supposes he's used to being scared around him now. The thought makes his blood run cold.

"What if I do stay? Are we just gonna carry on as normal, pretend that you don't know what I've done?"

"I've known for months."

He takes Brendan's silence as permission to continue, his calmness unnerving.

"Everyone thinks I'm so stupid, don't they?" There's a mocking edge to the boy's tone, like he's trying to tear into skin, his words a knife. "Stupid Ste, just because he can't read or write properly. Well I know some things, Brendan. I know you, and I know what you'd do to protect me. You think that I'm gonna believe it's a coincidence, Trevor being killed, Browning ending up in hospital?"

"Then why didn't you say something?" He hates that he does this: hates that he has the ability to blame his own fucked up choices on Ste, twisting it so that it looks like it's his fault for not being honest.

"Because I don't care."

"You don't mean that." It scares Brendan more than anything else. Ste has to care, because without that, there's nothing else. His humanity. Brendan can't take that from him too.

"Yeah, I do." He steps closer to Brendan, kicking the bag out of the way like it offends him. It lies in the corner of the room, discarded now. When Brendan tries to move towards it, Ste looks at him warningly.

"I told you to kill Walker, remember?"

"That was different. It was to protect your kids."

"It was still murder, Brendan. It was still gonna be murder what I did to Kevin - didn't matter that I was doing it for you or not."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I beat him up - I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill him. I didn't want to stop."

"But you did." Brendan needs him to see the difference. Needs him to realise that they're not the same.

"Maybe I would have been happier. I could have gone to prison, seen you again."

"Christ, it's not Friends Reunited in there. It's fucking _prison_. What did you think was gonna happen - that we'd run into each others arms, be put in the same cell? Cuddle at night in our orange jumpsuits? Get a grip, kid."

"Don't call me kid." Ste pushes him, shoves him back so hard that Brendan's back hits the door. Brendan stays pressed against it, doesn't want to come closer, is scared that he'll comfort him, start kissing him, never be able to leave.

Ste looks down at Brendan's bag, reaching into it, picking up one of Brendan's shirts. He opens the wardrobe, looks unfazed as he hangs it up.

"There." He sounds satisfied by his work, hands already securing around the next shirt.

"No." Brendan charges forward, trying to wrestle it from him.

"_Get off." _There's anger in Ste's voice, the kind of anger that Brendan hasn't heard in a long time. "When are you gonna get it into your thick head? I have stood by you through everything. I've known about this for ages - this entire time, about Danny and Walker and Trevor and Browning, and I'm still here. I'm still sleeping with you. I'm still marrying you. I still trust you with the kids. You think I'd let you go near them if I thought you were a monster?"

"I don't know." Brendan sits on the edge of the bed, feels defeated. Isn't sure that he has the strength to fight back, not when he wants this - Ste, them, forever - as much as he does.

"Maybe if you'd just quit worrying about me hating you all the time, we could actually sort things out."

When did he get so wise? Brendan's shaking, but he feels safe. Safer than he has since Skunk came back, when he began to feel like a clock was ticking on his life.

"Like what?" He dares to hope, dares to think that things can be put right.

"For starters, Skunk."

Brendan closes his eyes, groaning deeply, remembering what he'd told Ste last night.

_He's a hitman. I hired him._

He wants to pass it off as fabrication. It sounds crazy enough, but Ste's too used to Brendan dragging craziness into their lives. It's become normal.

"Are you gonna kill him, or should I?"

Brendan stares at him in shock.

"I'm joking!" Ste tuts. "Where's your sense of humour?"

"It must have got lost when my boyfriend told me that he doesn't care about me killing people."

Ste ignores him. Acts like he hasn't heard. "He won't go to the police. He's got too much to lose."

"What, his million dollar mansion and hoards of women?" Brendan drawls.

"He'd do life, wouldn't he? He's even more involved in this than you are. And once the police start digging around, they'll find out about the drugs - he must know all that."

"So?" It hadn't stopped him from being threatened.

"So, he only said all that stuff to scare you."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"That's not the point," Ste dismisses, waving his hand in the air. "All of this rests on you not wanting me to know. Now that I do, he's got nothing on you. He can't blackmail you anymore."

It sounds too easy. Too beautiful in its simplicity, the idea that it could be it: that he and Ste could live their lives in peace.

Brendan shakes his head, but Ste isn't backing down. There's so much hope in his eyes, and it's impossible not to feel it too.

"Don't you realise? Everything that's ever come between us - Walker and Kevin and Seamus - none of it would have happened if we'd been honest with each other."

Brendan knows what he's really thinking: if _you'd_ been honest with _me_. His secrets had allowed Walker to tear them apart.

"Are you gonna let someone do that to us again? Come into our lives, fuck everything up, leave us with nothing? Cos me, I'm not scared of fighting."

"Oh yeah?" Brendan smiles at that, feels difficult to do so but he's trying: he _has_ to try. "You'd fight for me?"

"Always."

::::::

Ste didn't go to Danny's. The furniture was different, and the carpets were different - even the colour of the door was different, but it was still Brendan's flat. Still the place where Brendan first told him he loved him. It felt more wrong than ever that Brendan wasn't still there, opening the door to him, eyes shining in welcome, or a scowl on his face when he was in a bad mood. It didn't matter how Brendan had looked, not when he had been there.

There were still reminders back at the flat when he got in. Doug's favourite coffee in the cupboard. The cutlery he had brought in the drawers. A picture of him that Lucas had drawn. But everything else was gone: his clothes, his toothbrush, his coat from the hallway.

Ste sat down on the sofa, playing the message. It was becoming a ritual, felt dangerous because it was beginning to feel like something he'd already lost, like he was replaying the memory of a person.

_I love you. _

He couldn't wait anymore. Typing a message to Brendan felt familiar now, but he still deliberated before sending it, eyes scanning over the words, did it so many times that they began to become jumbled in his mind.

_S: I need to see you._

He waited, and waited. Fell asleep on the sofa, and when he woke there were arms around him.


	12. Chapter 12

_This is the final chapter. _

_Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. All your lovely comments mean so much to me._

* * *

"Right, here's what we're gonna do."

Ste crosses over to the bar, pouring himself a drink and swallowing it down in one clean motion. He doesn't flinch when the liquid hits the back of his throat.

"You're gonna go back to wherever you were before." He holds up a hand when Skunk tries to cut in, silencing him. Brendan looks between them, feels a spark of amazement run through him. The boy's in a tracksuit, is a good few inches shorter than Skunk, but Jesus - he's owning this.

"And you're not gonna ask for any money. And all of that blackmailing shit -" He breaks off, lets out a snigger as if the mere concept is ridiculous. "We're never gonna hear about that again."

Skunk looks at Brendan, seems to be waiting for further instruction, some kind of input, but he stays silent, leaning against the wall. Ste's got this, got all of this. He doesn't need to add anything. He's just happy to watch the boy.

"How do you know I won't go to the police?" Skunk crosses his arms, tries for something like a leer, a last ditch attempt to look intimidating. It doesn't quite have the same impact in the face of Ste's bravery. He's not backing down, is staring at Skunk with a smile on his face, a picture of golden skin and thrilling confidence. He's as beautiful as he is terrifying.

"Come on." There's a patronising edge to Ste's voice, as though he's talking to a child. "Lets not go through all that again. Enough, eh? You know it, I know it, Brendan knows it - you're not gonna be telling anyone about this. A thirty year stretch behind bars isn't the way you want to spend the rest of your life, is it?"

Skunk looks disarmed, looks like he's aware that his plan is increasingly crumbling. Brendan has to remind himself that this is the man who killed Trevor. He looks fragile. Looks like he wants to run.

"So you're alright with this, Steven? Alright with your boyfriend being a killer?"

Brendan advances forward, doesn't like the sound of the name on the man's lips, doesn't like the truth spilling from them. It's Ste who stops him: stands between them and places a hand on Brendan's chest, hears how loud his heart's beating, how the adrenaline is making him want to do something reckless.

Ste leans closer, whispers so that only Brendan can hear.

"It's okay, Bren. It's okay."

His touch is soft, familiar. Comforting.

Brendan takes a step back, never looking away. He's killed a man in this club before. He can do it again if he has to.

Skunk laughs, looks like he's snarling. "You two are sick, you know that?"

It's Brendan who has to hold Ste back this time, an arm wrapped around his waist. He's skinny as fuck, but he's strong when he wants to be.

"N'awww, that's nice." The boy's spitting. Brendan can see it transferring onto Skunk's skin. "Now fuck off, and don't come back."

:::::::

He pours Ste a drink, figures he'll need it after what he's done.

The boy's not shaking though. He's calm, calmer than Brendan likes. He ignores Brendan's attempts to get him to sit down on the stool at the bar, motioning over to the sofa instead.

When Brendan sits down, his drink almost spills when Ste climbs into his lap, making his words die on his lips when he crushes his mouth against his.

"Steven -" Brendan pushes him gently away, putting his drink down, placing a hand on the boy's face and trying to steady him. He feels like a live wire in Brendan's arms, unpredictable. There's an excitement within him that Brendan recognises: the excitement of facing something that scares him, and winning.

"I wanna fuck."

Brendan puts a hand on the boy's chest, needs a few seconds to clear his head, to work out if this is the right thing to do. He's hidden this for months - thought that Ste would leave him if he found out about Trevor. Thought that the idea of touching Brendan again would make his skin crawl. He didn't expect him to burn up for him, his hands snaking underneath Brendan's shirt, his groin rubbing against his own, trying to coax him into giving in.

"Are you gonna say no?"

There's teeth against Brendan's ear, and he can feel Ste's dick hard against him.

"Cos if you are..." The boy unbuckles, shuffling out of his boxers. His dick's flush and hard, and Brendan smooths his hands across Ste's thighs as he looks at it, watching as Ste wraps a hand around it, swiping a finger over the head. "You can always watch."

Brendan swallows, pulse racing in his wrist. It feels like taking advantage - feels like he's doing something wrong, that Ste can't love him when he's done this, when he risked everything. He could have got caught, could have been sent down. Could have destroyed everything they have all over again.

But he can't not touch him. Can't turn his head away when Ste's lips find his. Brendan's hand replaces Ste's on his cock, and he listens, hardening, as the boy gasps and moans into his mouth, the sound transferring between them. When Ste grows impatient and tries to undress Brendan, he doesn't let him. Jerks him off hard until he releases violently, come covering Brendan's hand.

He offers it to Ste and the boy licks it off, his tongue curling like a cat's, a darting flick.

He gets off Brendan's lap, looks loose limbed and satisfied.

"Oi." Brendan frowns, looking down at his erection straining in his trouser suit.

Ste laughs - _when did that laugh stop being annoying and start being one of his favourite sounds?_ - and he pads back over, come drying on his stomach. He looks a mess, and Brendan loves it.

He releases Brendan's cock, holding it tightly.

"Do you want me to..." The boy dips his head, mouth parted. Jesus. Brendan wants to let him, is mesmerised by the sight of it, but there's something he wants even more.

"Stop."

Ste faces him again, watches him for what he's going to do next.

"Lie down. Arse up." He nods at the sofa, and Ste understands then: smiles, and continues smiling when he lies down, letting out a yelp at the feel of the cold leather against his stomach. His arse is soft when Brendan touches it, and he strokes it for long enough for Ste to grow bossy, craning his head round to see what's taking so long.

"You gonna stare at me bum all day, or..."

Brendan gives a stinging slap to the area, and Ste cries out before collapsing into giggles, rubbing his arse better. The boy stops laughing, stops moving when Brendan licks him out. All that Brendan can hear is sounds above him, and Ste's stillness slowly changes: he's rubbing his groin against the leather as Brendan's tongue goes deeper. He'll have to wash that sofa. It's wet from where Ste's gyrating like a dancer against it.

"Brendan, Brendan." He's breathless when he repeats his name, and it makes Brendan lick him harder, makes him curl a hand more securely around the boy's waist and drag him closer. He'd be worried that Ste couldn't breath if he wasn't making so much damn noise.

"What do you want?" Brendan's irritated to come up for air: he gives another slap to Ste's arse as punishment. Too bad it ends up seeming like a reward, making Ste writhe and squirm, his cock thickening.

The boy raises his arse up, and Brendan huffs out a laugh.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." He sounds almost coy now.

"You sure?"

"Fuck sake." He elbows Brendan from behind. He's pushing the boy, but he doesn't want to play games now, not when he's aching for him, balls heavy in his palm when Brendan brushes his thumbs over them, lining himself up.

He doesn't know how they got here. Doesn't understand how he thought he was so close to losing this. The boy knows him, senses something in him - could be hesitancy, because he angles himself up to force Brendan inside him deeper, and when his ring begins to slip from around his finger from the sweat that they're creating, he slides it on firmly. Keeps it safe.

::::::

Ste kissed the hands that had circled around his waist. Kissed along the fingers, his lips pressed against the knuckles.

"I thought you'd already left."

"Thought I should stick around. Turns out I'm not much good without you."

Ste smiled around the kiss, arching back against Brendan's stomach.

"I'm sorry about what happened - the way I acted at the hotel. I thought you didn't want me anymore." His voice got quieter as he went on. Brendan held him tighter.

"I've always wanted you."

"But why -"

"I told you. I can't be your safety net. I can't be the person you run to when things get tough with Douglas."

Ste laughed in disbelief, turning round to face Brendan. The flat was dark except for the lamp in the corner of the room. Ste imagined Brendan tiptoeing into the place, seeing him asleep on the sofa, phone clutched in his fist, waiting for Brendan to call.

"You're kidding me, right?" He widened his eyes, wanted Brendan to hear his own words back like an echo. When Brendan said nothing, Ste realised - he really didn't know. Didn't know a single damn thing about how much he meant.

"Brendan, it's always been the other way round. My safety net -" Ste shook his head fiercely. "Nothing about you is safe. Being with you was probably the most stupid, dangerous decision I ever made."

"Thanks."

Ste laughed at the look of indignation on Brendan's face, not stopping until his expression softened.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I do." He paused, looked like he had difficultly meeting Ste's eyes. "So he's gone then? Douglas." There was such a small amount of hope there, the kind of hope that could easily be extinguished.

"What do you think?"

"Before you woke up, I checked your room." Brendan stopped, seemed to be waiting for Ste to tell him off for snooping, but when nothing came he continued. "I saw that all his stuff had gone. I thought - I hoped..."

"I broke up with him." Were those the right words when a marriage ended? Something that had lasted for more than two years should have sounded more momentous. More important.

The hope was growing. Ste could see it in Brendan's eyes, the way they lit up. He looked like he was trying to make an effort to not be pleased.

"Wait a sec." Ste's brow creased as he stared around the flat, trying to search for any broken windows or signs of a break in. "How did you get in? I didn't keep the door open did I?"

Guilt crossed Brendan's face, and he looked down at the floor, bashful. "I asked Tony. Thought he might have a spare key. Know you two are close, so..."

Ste wanted to be angry, wanted to accuse Brendan of invading his privacy, but he couldn't - he _needed_ him here. Had asked him to come, and it warmed him that Tony had given Brendan the key. There was someone in his life who trusted him, who was willing to give him a second chance.

He suddenly realised the intimacy of where they were. The flat where Brendan had lived in for months. The floor where they'd fucked. The sofa where they'd lied in each others arms. Everything held a memory - memories that he thought had been erased when Doug had moved in.

Nothing had been erased at all. Everything felt stronger now, and he became shy: felt the enormity of the situation. Knew that this could be it. Him and Brendan, forever. He'd been waiting for this for two years, but he was scared. This felt final.

"Do you want some tea?"

Brendan looked taken aback at the change of subject, but he recovered, nodding.

"Alright then."

Ste walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on. While he went through the methodical tasks - getting the mugs out, putting the tea bags in - he checked every few seconds, looking into the adjacent room and making sure that Brendan was still there.

He was, every single time.

::::::

It was four in the morning, but they still hadn't gone to bed. Ste had work at nine, but he couldn't walk into the deli, knew already that he'd have to start looking for something else. He'd already forced Doug to waste years over him, and he couldn't put him through that again. Didn't want Doug to have to see him every day, smell Brendan on his skin.

He'd give him the business. Ste didn't care if he didn't get what was owed to him. It wasn't about that anymore.

Ste let the tea warm him. Poured so many cups that he lost count, and then began to make coffee for Brendan when it became clear that sleep was futile. Ste didn't want to fall asleep. Didn't want to miss this.

They didn't touch, and Ste wondered how it was possible: how he had woken with Brendan all around him, and now they were separated by the pillows that were between their bodies on the sofa. He wanted to regain that intimacy, but if this wasn't forever - and he wasn't entirely sure if it was - then he didn't want to remember what it felt like to be that close.

But it hurt. It hurt to hear Brendan's voice, and to look into his eyes. It hurt to remember how much he'd loved him, and how he loved him even more now. Everything that had been hidden before - Seamus, and his childhood, and what had happened - it was no longer secretive, or concealed behind layers of fabrication and lies.

Ste wondered if that was the problem. If Brendan didn't want to touch him because he was afraid that all Ste felt was disgust.

"Do you forgive me, Brendan?" He said it during a quiet moment, when Brendan was sipping at his drink, the foam from the coffee collecting in his beard.

Brendan looked bewildered. "Forgive you for what?"

"For Doug. For..." He considered telling him about George. About the one night stand he'd had days after Brendan had left. But there was rubbing salt into the wound, and there was splitting the wound open, puncturing it all over again. He couldn't do it.

Brendan put his mug down, giving Ste his full concentration. He looked serious, and tired. Looked like he'd lived a whole life and was scarred by what he'd seen.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for."

He said it with such sincerity that Ste couldn't question it. When he asked Brendan if he still loved him, there wasn't the doubt that he was expecting. His own words sounded assured. He knew he did. He knew that Brendan couldn't have got on that plane back to Ireland. Knew that Brendan would kill for him all over again. Would stand in front of that bullet and take the hit.

"More than anything." He seemed solemn. Seemed like he thought he would lose all of this. That he wasn't worthy.

Ste moved closer until their legs were touching.

"I love you. Always have, even when I was - _especially_ when I was with Doug. It was nice, being with him. _Nice_. That's it."

It was only as he said it that he understood what the last two years had been about. Survival. Getting by. Not being alone.

"Why..." He was mumbling. Felt self conscious asking. "Why haven't you tried to sleep with me?"

_Or kiss me._ He wanted to be kissed. What had happened at the hotel hadn't been enough: a few minutes of near release, before it was snatched away.

"I didn't think I had the right. And you might...not want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to?" Ste felt frustration rising in him. Fuck Brendan. Fuck him for thinking for one second that he didn't want him.

"You know..." He scanned Ste's face, then hurriedly looked away.

"Your dad?"

Brendan's silence felt like confirmation.

"Bren." Ste wiped his eyes - wasn't crying, not yet, but he wanted to. They'd only ever had one conversation about this. One conversation, before he never got the chance again. "It wasn't your fault."

"It's a cliche line - you've gotta say that." It was like he was wiping his words away. Disregarding them completely.

"I ain't gotta say anything." Ste was growing angry now, face flushed. "Do you think I want to be with you because I feel sorry for you? Fuck, Brendan. I'm with you because I _feel_ for you. That's where it finishes. I'm not gonna be thinking of what your dad did to you when we're... All I ever think about is you. The moment you kiss me, that's all that's in my head. I hate him for what he did, and I wish Cheryl hadn't shot him, because I would have killed him myself. But he has nothing to do with us. He wasn't here in the beginning, and he won't be here at the end."

"What's there at the end?" Brendan's voice was wavering. Breaking.

"You and me." Ste extended his hand. "Now are you gonna come to bed? Cos I want to close that door behind us, and I want to be with you. Just you."

Brendan took his hand.

::::::

They didn't sleep. They became exhausted, but something stopped them. When Ste began to settle, Brendan would slide down his body and take his cock in his mouth, and the boy's eyelashes would flutter, his body becoming alive again. When Brendan closed his eyes, the pillow soft and contrasting to what he'd had in prison, Ste's lips would be attached to his throat, his hands wandering southwards.

When morning came, Ste called in sick to work, leaving a message with one of the new staff. He was already full of Brendan's cock, and wondered if the girl could hear his breathlessness from down the line. When he hung up, he tried to scold Brendan for making him sound unprofessional, but Brendan chose that exact moment to start increasing his movements from inside of him, and Ste couldn't talk at all after that.

They had a late breakfast in bread: croissants and juice, and Brendan licked the melted chocolate that oozed out of the pastry, spreading it onto Ste's chest and over his nipples. They were starving after fucking all night, but the earlier suggestion of getting more food was abandoned.

Ste flinched, and Brendan saw.

"You sore?" He stroked a finger gently across Ste's hole, seeing the redness there. It looked stretched. He knew he wouldn't have to prepare the boy.

"Yeah." Ste was biting his lip, breathing harshly.

"Let's give it a few hours."

"No." Ste pulled Brendan towards him. He must have had a condom in his hand this whole time, but Brendan hadn't seen it, and he watched and stroked the crown of Ste's head as he rolled it over his dick. "Now."

"I don't want to hurt you." His resistance was already fading. He secured Ste in his lap, teasing his rim with the head of his cock.

"Don't care." He sank down in Brendan lap, and their groans felt as synchronized as their movements. Ste began to rise and fall, and Brendan didn't do anything, didn't thrust up into him from below - just watched, felt the boy's inner muscles contract and tighten at the invasion, marveled at how good he was at this.

They didn't get dressed all day.

::::::

"What if he comes back?"

Brendan can't eat the meal that Ste's cooked for him. It's enough to make the boy frown. He knows it's his favourite. Knows that Brendan would wander through a burning forest if there was a guarantee of food waiting at the other end.

"He's not gonna." He says it with an edge of confidence that Brendan doesn't possess.

"How do you know?" He presses, jabbing the untouched steak with his fork.

"I met him a couple of times, remember? It was enough to show me what he's like. No offense, but you could of hired a better hitman. I'm surprised he didn't mess up the entire job."

Brendan looks across the table in shock.

"First you tell me you don't care that I killed Trevor, and next you're giving me tips? Jesus, kid."

"I'm just saying. Never trust a guy called Skunk. Common sense, innit?"

"Hmm," Brendan grunts, taking a first bite of the steak. Boy makes a fucking good one.

"Anyway, enough about him. Mitzeee called."

"Oh yeah? She okay?"

"Fine. Just asked about the wedding." A smile splits Ste's face, and Brendan's sure he's not imagining the way he holds his ring up slightly to the light. Show off.

"Let me guess - she wants to plan it?"

"Already has the cake we should order, the band we should hire, the venue, the suits -"

"No." Brendan puts his cutlery down on the table. "Absolutely not."

"That's what I told her." Ste shovels more food into his mouth, bits of spaghetti sauce ending up on his chin.

"You did?" He thought Ste would agree to all of it. Thought that a simple wedding was all an illusion, and he wanted something fancy like he had with Doug.

"Course. That's not me, is it? It's not us. Besides. I've got my own ideas."

The boy's eyes light up. He looks happy. Looks happier than Brendan's ever seen him.

"Like what?"

"I thought maybe we could get married in Dublin. Only - only if you want to, of course. I know there's loads of memories with your dad, but...well, there are good ones too, aren't there? That's where we -"

"Yeah," Brendan says immediately, doesn't need time to think it over. "On the Liffey bridge."

"I don't think people can get married on bridges, Bren." But he smiles. Looks like he's picturing it.

"Says who? We can do whatever we want, Steven."

"You think they'll let us?"

"I'll have a word. Talk to them." He doesn't know who he'll talk to - the council, the governor? - but he'll make it happen. Anything.

"We can make one of those love locks and all, can't we?" Ste's ears are pink now, excitement building within him. He gets up from his seat, his hands around Brendan's waist, his chest pressed against his back.

"Demanding wee fucker, ain't you?"

"Shut up."

Brendan laughs, sounds filthy to his own ears.

"We can though, can't we?" Ste's voice is soft in his ear. "We can make one, and then throw away the key, and it'll live at the bottom of the river forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever."


End file.
